A WARRIOR BOLD.
By ST. GEORGE R. ATHBORNE,
Author of “Little Miss Millions,” “The Spider's Web,” “Miss
Caprice," “Dr. Jack’s Widow," Etc., Etc.
[Copyright, 1901, by Street and Smith, New York.]
CHATTER IV.
And the Professor, Too.
Perhaps it was a rash resolve—pos
sibly Charlie Stuart should have ac
cepted the baron's well-meant warn
ing for its full value, and have left
Antwerp by the first train. But it was
only the word of the baron against
his cm powers of perspicacity, anil
CbiiVflfe did not see why he should
yield so easily.
In other words, he was not ready to
believe in the story the wonderfhl
baron had related, without more
abundant proof.
Perhaps he might even doubt it until
the action of Arline Brand convinced
him of her guilt, or her own sweet
lips confessed it.
That was Charlie’s idea of friend
ship.
With the disappearance of the baron
from the scene, Charlie supposed the
show was over for the morning.
He was mistaken.
While he stood there on the curb, a
prey to distracting thoughts, he was
being closely watched by a man who
had been lounging just inside the en
trance of the Steen courtyard.
When Stuart started to move away,
the gentleman appeared to lose the
last vestige of control which he pos
sessed.
He ran after the retreating figure.
The patter of footsteps just behind
him natuarlly caused Charlie to half
turn; perhaps he thought it might
be the baron, with yet another choice
bit of information with which to add
to his stock of cheerfulness, or mayhap
Artemus desirous of overtaking him.
He was immediately undeceived.
A florid-faced gentleman, who look
ed as though he might have been dal
lying with the wine too long, but with
hot passion glowing in his eyes, was
close upon him.
Even as Charlie stepped back a pace,
thinking the man was drunk, or in a
great hurry to catch a train, to his in
tense surprise the stranger slapped
into Charlie's face a pair of kid gloves
he carried.
Luckily, Stuart had a cool head for
one of his race, or they would have
had it out then and there in the re
spectable street of the Steen.
He saw that the man had a griev
ance, though utterly in the dark as to
what its nature might be.
“See here! Who are you?" asked
Charlie.
“Aha! I am Herr Professor Richter
of Dresden.”
Charlie shook his hpat!.
“Still I am groping in the dark. Vo
my knowledge I never had the pleas
ure of meeting you, professor.”
The German scowled angrily.
“Which is one good thing for you,
sir; and now that you have met me.
you shall give me the satisfaction of
a gentleman. To-morrow morning it
must be, with pistols—or do you prefer
swords? Blood alone can wipe out the
base insult.”
“Suppose you tell me, Herr Profes
sor, how I have offended you. Surely.
It could not be a matter serious enough
to call for a duel.”
“How?” roared the German, dancing
up and down, his eyes glaring, his
hands working as though eager to
clutch the other's throat. “After des
troying my honor, you profess ignor
ance, scoundrel! Then I will tell you.
even though every gossip in Antwerp
learn of my shame. By running away
with my wife!”
“What?”
Charlie was so staggered by the ac
cusation that he could hardly catch his
breath.
He had passed through some
strange experiences during his life,
but this was really the first time he
had ever been accused of such an es
capade.
“But, Herr Professor, I swear to
you I never set eyes upon the lady in
question.”
“You lie. rascal! Did I not with my
own eyes see you put her in the car
riage, and stand there watching her
drive away! You are guilty!”
Poor Charlie felt as limp as a dish
rag.
This connection with Artemus and
his irrepressible dramatic fever was
bringing about the most agonizing e
sults.
"Well, all I say is, 1 must have done
it in my sleep. But I gave you my
word, and if 1 cannot prove my in
nocence. I will give you the satisfac
tion you demand.”
“To-morrow, at sunrise?" eagerly.
“As you say. There is my card, pro
fessor. Leave the particulars at my
hotel.”
Stuart stood looking after the learn
ed disciple.
"She the wife of that bow-legged,
heavy-brained scholar? Perish the
thought! There is another infernal
mistake about it. This queer old town
is all upset. It seems.”
Then he suddenly remembered the
card she had given him, with her ad
dress; as he had not thought to look
at it, so he hastily drove into his pock
et and drew out the case in which he
had placed it fresh from her hand,
only to receive a sad shock as he
read:
“MADAM SOPHIE RICHTER.
“Hotel de la Praix, Antwerp.
Dresden.”
Well, there It was.
. 5a black and w’hlte he saw the mis
erable evidence before his eyes.
Still he was grimly determined to
keep his engagement for that evening,
come what might.
Oh! sublime faith! It would re
quire mountains to crush a positive
belief in the conviction of his own eyes
and his own intuition.
Dinner came next.
He could amuse himself with a
thousand and one theories bearing
upon the case.
Charlie was enjoying his dinner
with a fair amount of satisfaction,
considering what a load he carried
upon his mind, when Artemus, who
had been given his address, made his
appearance.
Stuart immediately decided to make
a full disclosure.
An opportunity came in good time
whereby they could converse without
being overheard.
Then Charlie let loose.
He fairly staggered his companion
with his first volley, containing the
account of the famous baron and his
charge that Arllne Brand was the most
dangerous as well as notorious adven
turer in all Europe.
While Artemus was yet gasping
from the effect of this hot shot, Char
lie poured in grape and cannister. He
sketched the dramatic advent of the
professor on the scene, the challenge
to a duel he had flung at the supposed
disturber of his family peace, Charlie’s
amazed questions concerning yellow
hair and blue eyes, and finally the sol
emn agreement that had been reach
ed between them.
Charlie, having exhausted ms reper
toire, now turned the tables.
“What became of you, my dear
boy?” he asked.
"I waved you farewell,” Arterr.us
said.
“Then you were not in the second
coach?”
“Ay, ay. You see, the fair ladv
neglected to favor me with one of her
card3. and I was compelled to adopt
measures of my own in order to dis
cover her residence. She w'ent to the
hotel in the Rue de Mennlsters.”
“That’s the De la Paix,” with a
frown, remembering the card he held.
“Yes, my boy, the same. I was sat
isfied that I had found out Just where
she put up but curiosity induced me
to waylay the doorkeeper, he who
opened the carriages and exercised
the functions of factotum. So, put
ting a bit of silver in his hand, I ask
ed him who the lady might be—she
with the veil over her face. He
scratched his head as though a bit
puzzled himself, and then suddenly
answered, as though at random:
" ‘Mile. Brand.’ ”
Charlie had been listening eagerly.
He gave vent to an exclamation of
satisfaction.
“Artemus, you are a brick!”
“So,” continued the other, with a
grim smile, as though he could scent
something that had not yet become
visible to the naked eye, “I came to
the conclusion the young lady had
given u3 her true name, after all,
though she hinted at possessing an
other.”
' Yes; wny aid sne say mai: museu
Charlie. "But one thing seems clear —
there Is an Arline Brand, after all; and
to-night I am bound to discover what
relation, if any, connects her with this
bold, intriguing countess, or the run
away wife of the Herr Professor—
either that, or to-morrow I am booked
for a duel.”
Charlie Stuart saw the shades of
night close in upon the old city of
Antwerp with a sigh of deep satisfac
tion.
Beaching the hotel he boldly asked
to see Madam Sophie Richter.
Some time elapsed while he waited.
He was on needles and pins—hung
up. as it were, on tenter-hooks by sus
pense.
'•The lady awaits meinherr in the
little parlor over yonder,” at last came
the message.
Charlie drew in a long breath and
entered.
He felt a sensation of tremendous
relief.
For the lady, while pleasant and
even handsome in her appearance,
was a stranger.
He bowed courteously to the lady.
"I am a stranger to you, lady—an
Englishman, Stuart by name. Through
some misadventure I have become,
much against my will, 1 assure you,
mixed up in your domestic arrange
ments. and I have come here to throw
myself upon your mercy and beg your
gentle indulgence as an intercessor.”
The lady looked astonished.
"Sir. explain. Who seeks to do
you harm, and of whom am I to beg
indulgence?” she asked.
"Madam, there is at large in Ant
werp a man who has sworn to have
the life of the wretch who has robbed
his quiet home of its one bright jewel
—who prowls hither and yon, regard
less of his personal appearance,
breathing vengeance, and ready to
sacrifice all he has on earth if he can
but avenge his honor.”
"You really mean that the profes
sor is here in Antwerp?”
"Raging around like a mad bull."
“That at last he has left hi3 musty
old books?”
••Very much in evidence, ! assure
you.”
•"TTien our strateg«m worked," she
laughed.
'‘F’ardon my Ignorance, madam,
but I am inclined to think It worked
only too well, since I, an entirely Inno
cent man, am booked to meet the pro
fessor In a duel to-morrow at sunrise,
because, forsooth, he chanced to see
me place a lady in a cab—a lady who
had golden locks, and whom the old—
I mean the jealous professor—chose to
fancy was the wife of his bosom.”
The lady laughed aloud.
‘‘In a duel! Fie fight for me! Oh,
charming! It is too good! What will
Cousin Hildegarde say?”
‘‘I'm sure I don't know; but I’m
anxious to convince tht9 old fire-eater
that he has gotten hold of the wrong
man. and I am certain you will assist
me to prove my innocence.”
‘‘Oh, sir, most certainly; especially
as there Is no man in the matter at
all, and the object of our little esca
pade has been accomplished. Since
you have been put to more or less in
convenience in the premises, it would
be only fair for me to explain."
The story was nothing new. though
its sequel gave evidence of consider
able originality, thanks to the appear
ance of the brlght-witted Hildegarde
on the scene.
fliaaam ana tne professor naa net
been the happiest couple in the world.
He was wedded to his books, and
neglected his pretty wife. Long had
she suffered, and doubtless would
have continued to do so, only that his
cousin took the bull by the horns and
suggested a strategeni whereby the
student should be aroused and made
to realize how dear to his heart this
wife of his really might be.
It was the old principle over again
—of not missing the water until the
well ran dry.
And one day, when the learned man
found his blue-eyed spouse gone, and
a few lines simply signed H. begging
her by her love to meet the writer in
Antwerp, which note she had appar
ently dropped in the haste of her de
parture, the professor threw his books
to the winds and started in pursuit.
“To think—he would even fight, and
for me!” she said, almost incredu
lously.
“Indeed, he is distracted enough to
defy Fate itself. But, madam, you
may do me a favor,” boldly.
“You have but to name it. sir.”
“This lady whom I had the pleas
ure of serving—this lady whom your
furious husband saw me put into a
carriage—gave me a card and invited
me to call upon her here at the hotel
to-night.”
“Ah! yes,” with a bright smile.
“She gave me a card. I did not
look at it just then, but after the ridi
culous encounter with your husband,
in wrhich he accused me of stealing his
wife, and threatened me with death oa
the field of honor, I took occasion to
investigate, and found—this.”
He handed the card to her.
One glance, and the professor's wife
laughed.
"Yes, it is my carte-de-visite; but,
on my honor, Meinherr Stuart, I did
not give it to you.”
“That I know very well. What I
wish to discover is, who did? There
is a young lady, also with such gold
en hair and blue eyes as you yourself
possess; she is stopping at this hotel.
Now, you must have at some time ex
changed cards with her. Can you not
remember the circumstance?”
The professor’s wife nodded eagerly.
“Well do I remember; it was only
yesterday. She quite charmed me
with her naivete and her flattery. I
had never before met one so fascinat
ing.”
“It was the Countess Isolde Bra
bant.”
"And—her name?” asked Charlie,
his heart sinking.
(To be continued.)
WHERE PERSONS ARE EVERYTHING
Position of Congressman's Wife In
Washington Society.
The rural congressman's wife, am
bitious to be in society, and who fond
ly imagines that election to the Hou-e
of Representatives carries with it the
golden key to unlock all doors, learns
her first and bitter lesson, says Mr.
Low, when she discovers that position
means something, but persons are
everything. Such a woman comes tc
Washington full of her own import
ance, profoundly impressed with thi
greatness of her husband, fondly be
lieving that the wife of the president,
the wives of the members of the cabi
net, the wives of the senators, will
receive her with open arms; that she
will be invited to the dinners of which
she has read in her local paper; that
she will get her name in the news
papers, and her dresses will be des
cribed, as was that of the governor's
wife at the last charity ball. Alas for
her disillusionment! She learns that
while a congressman may be a very
big man In his district, he is a very
small man in Washington until ho has
established his right to be regarded
as above the average. If he has money
and tact he may soon attract attention
and cross the golden boundary; or If
he has no money, but much ability,
he will reach his destination by an
other route; but if he has neither one
nor the other, if he is simply an ordi
nary member of congress, a very fair
specimen of middle class common
place intelligence, the social recogni
tion for which his wife sighs will
never be hers. The wives of senator?
from her state will return her call, she
may be invited to a tea, even to a din
ner at the fag end of the season, bul
that will be the limit of her insight
into society.—Harper's Weekly.
Seme of the recent magazine articles
seem to prove that a little learning ii
a dangerous thing.
We like to console ourselves wltb
the delusion that the grapes just
youd our reach are sour,
\ The Story with a Sequel. \
| (Copyright, 1902, by Daily Story P-.J> Co.) |
“And now. Bot,” announced the Ris
ing Young Writer, tilting back In his
chair from the table aud confidentially
addressing the ink receptacle, "wo
come to the end of the story."
“The beautiful Princess has been
rescued; the Prince has undergone as
many hair-breadth escapes as we can
really afford to throw In for |8. and
the naughtyogre has been killed off by
partaking of a box of poisoned dragons
sent anonymously through the malls.
An up-to-date touch, that last, Botty,
my boy.”
The container of writing fluid re
maining unresponsive, he continued.
“Some folks say, Mr. Bottle, that a
writer always pictures In his hero
himself, but I doubt that. 1 guess my
heroes are mostly composite creatures,
with Just enough of me in their make
up to furnish them with movable
Joints, so to speak, at tbe kneea and
elbows."
“But I’ll tell you who poses for my
villains—all of them.” declaimed the
R. Y. W„ with vehemence. "Mister
Dennis Q. Smith, commonly called
Denny. Fate tried to conceal him, I
suppose, but I wish she had gone far
enough to have him bom in a settle
ment off the railroad in Afghanistan,
and made Afghanistan an undiscover
ed Island, and instigated International
laws against exploring. Denny, is u
smiling, good-natured chap, too, and
r could like him, were he not fool
enough to see the good qualities In the
girl I like, and to carry hts audacity
to the point of liking her also.”
Nothing being forthcoming from the
Insensate vial, the R. Y. W. kept it up,
with much satisfaction.
“But let him smile and smile—he'll
always be my villains. He’s been the
hard-hearted usurer, that turned
out tho widows and orphans in
the cold, cold snow; he’s been the
faithless lawyer that destroyed the
will and left the rightful heir nothing
but a mourning ring and starvation.
He's committed every dastardly deed
from treason and arson to bolting toe
straight Prohibition ticket; and In
our present story, Bot, I've made him
the horrible ogre, a fiendish outcast,
and carried his degradation to such a
degree as to make him opposed to the
higher criticism, and in disgrace with
the administration.
i ve neaj/eu iuuikimij. ,
and insult upon him. I've made him
a victim of moving accidents by field
and flood. I’ve shuffled him off this
mortal coil by every known means
from the wheel and rack to choking to
death on a collar button, notwith
standing which, I invariably find him
occupying her front steps or parlor
sofa o’ night on Tuesdays, Thursdays
and Sundays.
“But never mind, Bot, I’m sure she’s
'nine—
So what care I
Though Smith be nigh?
I’ll live for Nan—
For Nan I’ll die.”
A knock came upon the door. The
warbler arose and admitted, decided
ly to his surprise and discomfiture, the
very lady, the subject of his impas
sioned ditty and object of h.s affec
tions. Perhaps he wondered how thick
t~e woodwork was.
‘ Why, what on earth, Nan—’’ he
began.
“I have something to tell you. Dick,”
replied the young iady, in a tone that
might have been firmer.
“You must have— But won’t you
have a chair?”
“No, it won’t take but a minute,'
she went on. “Dick, I’m going to be
married.”
Now "Dick” had often imagined
her telling him this very thing, and
himself nobly resigning her, acknowl
edging his own utter unworthiness,
wishing her Joy, and so on. A quite
human sort of picture and one that
most lovers have sometimes conjured
up. Nevertheless, it hit him bard,
and the only speech he could frame
was the very unromantic, yet natural
question, “Who to?”
“You know—Denny.”
“But isn’t this rather sudden?”
“Maybe it is,” said the girl, half de
fiantly, “but his uncle died and left
Tilted back In his chair.
him ten thousand dollars, and he
came and asked me, and I just
couldn’t stand that factory any long
er. and n«w I've got to go on with
it, for y«BMirday I quit. And you
know, Dick, I never said I didn’t like
him as well—as 1 do you.”
‘‘I should think you’d like him ton
thousand times as well.”
‘‘You needn’t talk that way, Dick."
‘‘Well, then, ten thousand dollars is
no princely fortune. T might make
that much eventually, with a single
■tory.”
“Yes, Dick, you might, and I truly
hope you will—but, Dick, you never
have; and what was I to do?"
“Ten thousand dollars won’t last
forever,” he continued, ignoring her
gentle, yet rankling reminder.
"No, but Denny is going to invest
part of it, and open a printing shop
with the rest, and it will be a good
start for—for him.”
“Printing shop!” he sneered, “You’ll
have a man of letters, after all, won't
you?”
“Now, Dick, you needn’t talk lik*
that. At first I was going to write you
—after it was over, hut that seemed
kind of sneaky, and I've always been
honest with you, haven't I. Dick?”
“Yes, Nan,” he admitted, "you
have.”
“And you know that work-room wa3
no place for me.”
“It was not.”
"And I had nothing else. And I
would have waited for you. Dick, if
"Dick, I'm going to be married,
you had ever seemed able to get along
—even if only enough to barely take
care of me. It's not the money, Dick,
though ten thousand dollars is a great
deal.”
"Yes," he said, “it is. Especially to
earn on the payment-on-publicatiou
plan."
"And I couldn't stand It any longer,
Dick. The heat, the dirt, the awful
noise—they were just driving me to
death. And you know you've said
yourself, many a time, you wouldu't
blame me, no matter what I did to
get away from there.”
"I’m not blaming you,” he replied
quietly.
"But I blame myself for—for what
lias happened, for I know you liked
me, Dick, and I liked you. I'm sorry.
It's Just circumstances, Dick.”
"Just circumstances, Nan.”
"And Denny, he likes me, too,” she
said softly.
"Where is he?”
"He’s waiting for me on the land
ing.”
Dick went to the door and called to
him: “Come in, Denny. "I’m not go
ing to have at thee, or anything of
that sort. Come on in."
Denny came in and stood mainly on
one foot, and gazed at the floor with
as much apparent absorption as if he
had never previously seen any contri
vance of the kind. It was an embarass
ing situation, and all three stood ill
at ease, the girl particularly so.
A description of her probably would
bo in order, but it makes no difference
whether she had blue eyes and brown
hair, or brown eyes and blue hair. She
was the one girl for each of these men,
or at least each thought so, which is
enough. As for her eyes, it would at
that moment have been difficult to
determine their color, even had she
held them up, for by this time they
were blurred and moist.
Finally Dick spoke: "Well, I sup
pose I ought to say something. Denny,
I know you’ll be good to her and all
that, because I guess you love her just
as well as anybody could. And I con
gratulate you on your inheritance, you
know. Wouldn't object to having
some kin of that kind myself, but I
was always careless about selecting
my relations.”
And then Denny muttered some
thing about “thanks," and the girl
glanced at Dick, and somehow or
other the pair of them stumbled out.
The Rising Young Writer went
back to his table, and for a long time
ho sat there quiet, while the shadow
of the squat ink bottle grew and grew
and lay across the floor, a broad,
black bar.
At last he gathered the scattered
sheets of paper together and again
took up his pen. “We must finish it
up, ,Bot,” he said, “for time, and the
day of issue, wait for no man.”
“And so the Prince came to his
own,” he read aloud as he wrote it,
"and married the Princess, and they
lived happily together ever after.”
“And that, Bot,” he said, putting
aside the pen, “I guess is the end of
the story.”
There came another knock upon the
door, but this time it swung swiftly
open. She did not enter, but stood
looking at him in a way that he had
never seen her look before. Then she
smiled, ever so slightly.
“Maybe there’s a sequel, Dick,” she
said. _
Foreign Tour for Got. Wood
Governor general Leonard Wood,
after the evacuation of Cuba, will be
granted a long leave of absence, which
he Is to spend abroad with his fam
ily.
God’s presence makes the great
church.
BUILDS $3,500,000 OPERA HOUSE
South iainlriDi Sr* Kitr*Ti(ut la
Theatrical Hatters.
“Very much to my surprise,’' said
Mr M. M. Dolphin, of Kansas City, at
the Ebbltt, “In a late tour of Central
America I came upon the most beau
tiful building I ever laid eyes upon.
It was the Government opera house
in San Juan, the capital of Costa Rica,
and there is only one other theater In
the world that approaches it In magnl
fcence or cost, and that is the opera
house in Vienna.
“This building is a small city of
45,000 people cost $3,500,000. It was
constructed from funds raised by a
State tax on coffee. Inside and out it
Is of the finest marble that could be
had In Italy. ItaHan artisans worked
upon it, and famous artists from Eu
rope were employed in the Interior
decorations, which I think surpass
those of our Congressional library.
The richness of the furnishings and
general gorgeousness of the house as
tonish every one, and to see such a
sight in a little interior town of a
non-progressive government Is cer
tainly remarkable.
“I spent several weeks in the country
and learned, among other things that
the people of Central America may
know that there is such a place as
the United States on the map, but that
is about all they do know of this Gov
ernment. They buy little or nothing
from ms and seem to consider us of no
value in the line of commerce. Costa
Till a Is one of the richest countries
on earth and when the line of railway
that will penetrate it from ocean to
ocean is completed there will be a
great opportunity for the development
of its splendid resources. This road
is now finished from Limon, on the At
lantic coast, to San Jose, and the gov
< rnmt nt proposes to build from that
point to I’unta Arenas, on the Pa
cific, a total distance of about 200
miles.—-Washington Times.
TOUCHED BY HER DOG’S DEVOTION
Girl finalize* the FiUthfulne** of Four,
footed Friend.
A bachelor girl who hurried home
each evening from her studio with
the picture always before her of the
small friend who was to greet her at
the door of her apartment in a
wriggling ecstasy of welcome had a
guest one evening who did not go In
so much for dogs as he did for Bache
lor Girls. The girl had rebuked her
small friend rather sharply for barking
at the man who didn't care for dogs
and the former had taken refuge under
a table. "Do you really think dogs
are worth while?" asked the man.
"Make a gesture as though you were
to strike me." replied the girl. The
man did so. In an instant the small
friend that a moment before had been
beaten and had crawled under the
table to brood over his wrrongs was
standing beside his mistress with
hackles up and teeth gleaming, growl
ing ominously at the guest. "Do you
know what he Is growling at you?”
asked the girl. ‘It's only a paraphrase,
but the original once made a nation's
blood tingle. When I think of how
I have humiliated and shamed him be
fore you and of how he stands here
now on guard I am foolish enough to
feel my own blood tingle. His growl,
translated, means ‘My Mistress—Right
or Wrong.' ”
How Turkish ling. Are Sold.
Turkish rugs are sold by the bale as
they enter the customs house, and the
purchaser has no opportunity to ex
amine them. He must take them as
they come, good, bad and Indifferent,
old and new, coarse and fine, perfect
and ragged. The week's arrivals are
usually put up at auction on Monday
morning. The larger quantity of rugs
come from the interior of Asia, and are
brought down to the ports of the Medi
terranean and Black sea by caravans
of camels and shipped to Smyrna and
Constantinople, which are the great
markets. They are packed so many
to the bale by sizes, and if the pur
chaser knows the name of the seller
and the place from which they have
been shipped, it gives him a slight
basis upon which he can judge as to
their value, but it is always more or
less of a lottery, and hence the rugs
bring much les3 than their actual
value.
Coatly Hnakata of Fruit.
There is a wide range in the price
for which the fruiter will put up a
“steamship basket.” He can easily
make it cost $40 or $50. Strangely
enough the fruits which go to make up
the most expensive baskets are not the
imported, but the domestic varieties
out of season. Peaches at $1 each
and plums at fifty cents in the middle
of winter are more expensive than
almost any of the tropical varieties
brought from the Indies by steamer.
Most of the hothouse fruit for the
local market Is raised in New Jersey.
—New York Post.
Joke on Hotel Keeper.
Senator Quay tells a story of an
experience at a country hotel near
Pittsburg. Hanging on the wall in
the parlor was an inscription “let on
parle Francais." The senator noticed
the inscription, and turning to the
proprietor, said: “Do you speak
French?" “No." replied the proprie
tor, “United States will do for me."
“Well, then.” said Quay, “why do
you have that notice on the wall—that
meau3 ‘French is spoken here.’"
“Well, I’ll be blamed if a young chap
didn’t sell that to me for a motto
“God bles3 our home!” answered tiff
astonished hotel keeper.
Atheists «fld Infidels waste time talk
ing to a mother who gazes with tear
wet eyes at a baby’s empty shoe.
Subtle temptations need swift re
sistance.