The McCook tribune. (McCook, Neb.) 1886-1936, February 10, 1887, Image 6

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    mmmammmaL i i i
| - 4Paris Physician's Horribli
h Dispovery.
* . ITrantlaUtL Ci-ict/tnatt Enquirer. ]
j. On a cold , clear night fa January j
\ gentleman with his hands in the pock
f. ets of his overcoat walked rapidly uj
' the Boulevard Haussman , his stepi
t sounding loudly on the asphalt of th (
r avenue , silent and at this hour alraos
deserted , though tho hands of thi
clock In the cupola of St. Augustini
marked but a little past eleven.
Pedestrians were rare , but from timi
S to time a tram-car passed on its polish
I ed rails , the horsed straining and slip
[ PBg and enveloped in steaming vapor
T and. the heads of the passengers , oi
I thair way to the Trocadero or tin
I 3iuette , scarcely distingulshabh
through tho glass of the windows
j opaque with the mist of the interior ,
i There was little need of the conductor' ;
I iiora to warn carriages out of the waj
I tlicy were as rare as the passers-by
I though at long intervals a vollure < L
l place rumbled slowly along on its waj
[ to the depot , and occasionally a privati
I < oupe , its lighted lanterns and spirited
\ high-stepping horses , passing like :
| Hash.
As I said before , the night was colt
and the moon shone brilliantly , casting
tipon the ground the perfect contour o
? tall houses and bristling chimneys
I and tracing the streets and pavetneute
[ -with , strange lines and distorted sil
! liouettes. The sharpness of the atmos-
phere , however , seemed only to add tc
f hc good humor of our pedestrian as lu
-walked on and on , softly whistling , an ( ]
[ revolving in his head all kinds of happy ,
cheerful fancies ; for Dr. Pascal Borstal
would have been a malcontent , indeed ,
, ; to have complained of destiny. Onh ,
1 thirty \ ears of age , a surgeon of note ,
ami also Professor of Science in the
College of France , he had achieved ac
exceptional position in the Corps Med'
I jcal at an age when his colleagues were
i still at the bottom of the ladder.
fc . Sufficiently wealthy to be independ-
t ent of the drudgery of daily practice ,
t he devoted , his attention entirely to
' scientific pursuits , and has taken as a
specialty the nerves of the human
t organism , those mysterious agents
t which transmit to the members of tho
s oody the orders of the brain.
I Some of his recent experiments in
f this line , the results of which he has
j , iust given to the general public , had
• drawn upon him the attention of the
t whole scientific world.
I . No wonder Dr. Pascal Borsier was
l happy as he walked along , picturing to
I himself the future await ng htm.
' As he approached his home in the
Rue de Laraennais his thoughts by
degrees took another direction , for he
was not as yet so absorbed in his work
and researches as to be indifferent to
P all other considerations. Science , for
f which he felt such passionate devotion ,
f had a rival , and a powerful one. Pas
cal was * married , and had been for
f several year ? , to the daughter of one of
I tho chief employes of the Ministry.
I Called to attend her father in one of
fc tho e maladies which science retai'ds
f nd allev.ales , but can not control , he
had found beside his patient at every
f -visit this beautiful and gentle woman ,
I watching with sad and questioning
I -eyes the unequal battle with death.
I Charmed from the first with her artless
I grace and modesty , he was soon com-
f pletely enthralled by the refined intelli-
L cence and pure principles of Christine
t Dumarlas. He demanded and obtained
| [ her hand , Christine's mother still re-
| t znained a widow , with a small but suf-
| | liciently ample fortune to meet tho re-
l | < juirements of herself and her two
if children ; and as Christine's brother , an
I" * engineer and inventor of a specialty in
f -the construction of foreign railroads ,
was able to visit his family only at rare
[ intervals , Mad. Dumarais felt that she
' was exceptionally fortunate in finding
f .a son-in-law established in Paris.
\ From the day that he was united to
I 'Christine Dumarais Pascal Borsier had
\ "been completely happy ; and now , four
t years after marriage , loved his wife
h with the same ardor that he felt for her
r the day he married her. To say that
I . he loved her is to say little ; he simply
I adored her.
E' Such as he had believed her to be he
f -had found her in reality , artless , lov-
h mg , always studying how to make his
h tome more attractive ; happy if ho was
I" with her. and resigned if the duties of
I his profession called him away. At first
L • Dr. Borsier feared that this lonely life
\ was a little sad for his beautiful young
; g wife , but if she found it so she never
' allowed it to appear.
j * * Educated in a severe and somewhat
IL parsimonious home , she did not ask
herself if marriage ought not to have
If- brought her compensations more auius-
\l \ ing than those which had satisfied her
\r \ , as a young girl.
it The few worldly pleasures she at in-
fe tervals enjoyed in the company with
jf , her husband amply sufficed her , and
it Tier greatest joy seemed to be to asseni-
| | ble about her table her mother , her
nearest relatives and her husband's
friends. At least , such were the reas
ons with which Pascal salved his con
science of the complete isolation to
which he had condemned his wife.
However , there was another reason ,
I more serious than the rest , which help-
; -ed to form the line of conduct he" had
gradually adopted • MIIcDumarais ,
who had passed her earliest years in a
somber estressol at the end of a court ,
suffered from a tendency to anemia ,
, " complicated with a slight affection of
, v - the heart. But this had not alarmed
% Dr. Borsier , for he was convinced that
- he could remedvthe evil by vigilant
care. Already an appreciable change
lor tho better had taken place in Chris
tine's condition. A tranquil life , ex
empt from fatigue and worrv , was not
only an important but an absolutely in-
dbpcnsable factor in the course of
treatment , and he made it his duty to
* * . stnetly enforce this part of the pro-
V gramme.
* . But , if I must confess it , there was
'Jf vet a thrd reason , more powerful than
all tho preceding ones and of which he
was. perhaps himself unconscious ar
dently as he loved his wife , his passim
was surpassed by his jealousy. Yes ,
Dr. Brosior was jealous , absolutely , rr
diculously jealous. Although he had
not tho slightest reason in the world foi
being so. On tho rare occasions thai
he allowed h s wife to appear in socie
ty , instead of onjoving the sensation
produced by her beauty and intelli
gence , ho had suffered torments , every
look of admiration cast upon her seem
ing to-h s jealous heart an insult to be
avenged. At any rate ho could cut
short exhibitions which infringed upon
his own privileges and prerogatives ,
and he kept his word. Tho beauty oi
Madame Brosier fully justified tho tri-
umphat reception she had met with in
society. Her hair , worn in a single
massive braid , coiled about her head ,
was of a light golden brown , and when
unbound fell in rich , undulating waves
almost to her feet. Her complexion
was of that milky whiteness which in
variably accompanies hair of a reddish
shade , and her eyes long and almond-
shaped with dark brown pupils , shaded
by silky lashes. A laughing , rosy
mouth , an expressive face of a charm
ing oval , and great beauty and elegance
of form , produced an ideal which justi
fied tho immoderate love of Pascal , and
even to a certain extent explained his
Tho nearer he approached to his
home , the more Dr. Brosier hurried his
stepsv thereby hastening the moment
wheu 'he would meet his wife , and she
had promised to sit up reading by the
fire uutil his return.
He could see her now , just as she
would look when he entered the room ,
curled-up in her arm-chair , enveloped
in her plush dressing-gown , with her
little feet toasting upon the fender and
her book in her hand. He was never
so happy as when able to quit his work
sooner than he anticipated , for it gave
her the joyous surprise of an unexpect
ed return. Such would bo the caso
this even ng.
Called in consultation to a patient at
Versailles , whoso condition was des
perate , and upon whom they were
going to perform an operation , lie had
gone away at 7:30 , not intending to
return until the last train leaving Ver
sailles at midnight. But the patient
had not considered it necessary to
await the operation , and , at tho very
moment the faculty were ascending the
stairs , had tricked them nicely by slip
ping from life to death , considerinjr it
preferable to steal away in that style to
remaining for a premature autopsy.
"Ho was a man of sense , " cried
Borsier , laughingly , as , bidding his
confreres good-nig ht , he boarded the
ten instead of the twelve o'clock train ,
and an hour afterward was deposited at
the foot of the Kite de Eome , whence
he had preferred to walk to his home in
the Hue de Lamennais.
As he passed through tho avenue
Friendland his attention was suddenly
arrested by the loud rumbling of a
fiacre passing rapidly ahead of him. All
at once the yellow body of the vehicle
and the white hat of the coachman ,
which he had followed carelessly with
his eye , disappeared from view. It had
wheeled about , and , unless the dis
tance deceived him , into the Hue de
A few moments afterward , as he
turned into the street himself , he per
ceived the vehicle a ain , stopped be
fore his own door. The coachman had
descended from his seat , and standing
by the side of the fiacre , seemed to be
expostulating with some one in the car
riage. In the silence of that retired
quarter his words were perfectly audi-
blo to Pascal as he walked down the
"Madamo , " cried the coachman.
"Madame , wake up ! "We have arrived.
There was no response.
"Madame , " he cried again , raising
his voice considerably , "wake , up , if you
please ; we have arrived. "
St 11 the sleeper did not move.
"Well , this is a go , " mumbled tho
coachman , gruffly. "She's a regular
dummy. What's the matter with her ,
I wonder ? " And the man in the white
hat peered into the fiacre in perplexed
"Anything wrong ? " asked Pascal ,
approaching him. "I am a physician ,
and perhaps can assist j'ou. "
"It's more than I know , " responded
the coachman ; "but something's gone
wrong with tho fare. Can't move her
no more than a block o' . wood. Look
for yourself , monsieur. "
Pascal , obeying the coachman's di
rections , looked into the interior.
Stretched upon the cushions , a woman
was lying perfectly motionless , her face
shrouded in the folds of a thick veil.
He took her hand , his trained fingers
instinctively seeking tho pulse ; the ar
tery did not beat
"Hello , " said the doctor to himself ;
"this is more than a fainting fit. Bring
me a light , ' turning to the coachman.
"A light , quick your lantern will do. "
The coachman obeyed , and the light
thrust into the carriage enabled him to
see that the woman before him was
slender in form , dressed in some kind
of a dark-colored robe , and enveloped
from head to foot in a long "fur mantle.
Supporting himself on the carriage-
step the doctor carefully began to re
move the veil which concealed the fea
tures. Suddenly a cry of horror burst
from his lips. He dropped from the
step his legs refused to support him.
The 1 feless woman whom he had lifted
in his arms , upon whose discolored lips
and ghastly face the rays of the lantern
Tell broad and full , was his wife his
awn wife Christine Borsier !
Yes , it was his wife , dying , perhaps ,
3ead ! But how did she come 'to be in
that carriage , and at that hour of the
night ? A pain as sharp as the stroke
of a stiletto pierced his heart as a terri
ble suspicion surged through lis mind ;
but it was only a Hash there was no
time to think of such tilings now ; he
( vould consider them afterward. Mas
tering himself by a powerful effort , he
turned to the coachman :
"Seek the conciergo of the house , "
said he. "and tell him to come quickly ,
Dr. Borsier wants him , " and drawing
from his pocket a bottle of salts , ho
lield it under the nostrils of the unfor
tunate woman.
[ to be continued. ]
Passing around the hat is one wav of get
ting the ccuts of the meeting. Texas Sift-
"Should Critics Bo Gentlemen ? "
Mr. Fawcett in tho last number o
Lippcncoti asks the" question , "Shoult
critics bo gentlemen ? " and in his replj
attempts to prove not only that thf
critic should bo a gcntlemau , but that
being a gentleman , ho cannot bo a crit
ic. Ho holds that neither author , pub' '
Usher nor reader reaps any benefit
from the ubiquitous hook reviewer , and
thinks the time will shortly be wher
Othello's occupation will bo gone. Bui
even while ho rails he cannot resist the
tomptation of usurping that gentle
man's function and criticising the critic.
There is much of merited severity in
Mr. Fawcett's somewhat illogidal ti
rade , and while we cannot agree with
him that the remedy lies in tho total
annihilation of the critic , for that were
to annihilate the human l ace , we give
a tervent amen to the original proposi
tion that only gentlemen should be
critics. Tho Lounger , in the Critic ,
after ridiculing Miss Cleveland's poem ,
"Tho Dilemma , " at some length , says :
"I hope Mr. Fawcett won't read what I
have just written. Sucli words about
the work of a lady would go far to con
firm his low opinion of the irritable
ami ungentlemanly race of critics
whom ho scathes in the same magazine
in which. "The Dilemma" appears.
Mr. Fawcet is very amusing when he
is angry ; now and then he is amusing
even when he keeps his temper ; the
only time you can depend on his not
being amusing , is when he tries to be.
He takes life very seriously , and noth
ing in life so ser ously as himself , his
verses , and his stories. A review not
altogether laudable sets his teeth on
edge and sends a cold shiver down his
back ; a really severe notice of his
work offends him beyond the limits of
endurance. " This is the sort of critic
ism against which all persons with tho
instinct of fair play protest. Bidicule
is not argument , nor is it criticism. A
crit cism should be honest , and , , there-
oi'e , it cannot be at all times favor
able , but surely it need not descend to
rudeness and injustice. No man or
woman who is capable of doing good
work should object to sincere though
adverse criticism but all rebell when
the reviewer's pen is wielded only to
point a wititc sm , and mangle the talc.
Miss Cleveland has suffered much from
this so-called criticism. While the fact
that she is a woman and the sister of
the man whom our nation most de
lights to honor should not entitle her
to more generous treatment at our
hands , it certainly should not preclude
her from fair and courteous treatment.
If her work is bad , she has no right to
expect fulsome praise , but she has a
right to expect that the manner of the
adverse criticism shall be dignified and
gentlemanly. A man whose personal
ity is hidden behind a reviewer's mask
has no more right to address Miss
Cleveland as Rose than he would in a
personal interview , and yet the penny-
a-liner * whose keenest shaft is tipped
with this witticism would never dream
of offering this indignity in person. A
man may be incapable of writing a
poem , an essay , or a story , and yet
possess the ability to discover merit , or
the lack of * merit , in the work of
another , but a boor has no more busi
ness in the columns of a newspaper or
magazine than in a drawing-room , and
the time will come when such will be a
recognized fact , to the relief of the
public and the advantage of the author.
"It takes more refinement of soul to
discover beauties than to detect Haws. "
The Current , Chicago.
- - • t > >
Among the Gas-Wells.
A group of burning wells north of
Washington , Pa. , has presented many
grand and beautiful night-scenes.
Though several miles apart , they ap
pear at a distance , to be close together ,
and their light intermingles. On a
lark night , witli all of them burning ,
they make a great show. These wells
in full blast with those flanking them
an the right and on tho left , with the
broad glare of those at Wellsburg , W.
Va. , showing twenty miles to tho
northwest , and with those at Murrays-
rille , .Pa , thirty miles to the northeast
make a scejie which would terrify a
stranger , if h e should come upon it un
aware of the existence of such things as
burning gas-wells. It would only need
jolumns of fiery lava to convince him
that the whole region was full of volca
noes. And his terror would doubtless
ae complete when he saw a great fiery
jolumn shoot skyward , unless he was
made aware of the i-eal cause of tho
phenomenon , when he would remain to
ldmire what a moment before iiad fill-
jdliimwith alarm. The explanation
jf the sudden burst of flame is that it
s necessary often to "blow out" the
veils and the pipes leading to the reg-
ilator , to keep them from being clog
ged by the salt which gathers in the
Sipes from the salt-water thrown up by
; he gas. The flow of the gas is stop-
jed for a moment ; and when again re-
eased , the gas drives everything before
t into the open air. This escaping
; as is burned at the regulator. The
sffectof the suddenly increased pres-
; ure is to shoot a tongue of flame , hiss-
ng and roaring , high up in the
lir. On a misty night , when the
ight is broken up and diffused ,
the snow-covered hills sometimes
idding their inflection , the whole
iky is brilliantly illuminated , and tho
; cenc is grand and beautiful. Samuel
W. Hall in St. Nicholas.
Some Other Day.
Old Darky ( to gentleman ) Cud yo'
lelp a poo' ole cullud gem'men , sah ?
dy gran'mother wuz nu'se to
jhrist'fer Klumbus , sah.
Gentleman Christopher Columbus ?
Old Darkv Yes , sah. She cum over
inde Mavilowah wif him when he fust
liscovered Amer'ca , 'deed she did.
Gentleman Not to da } ' , uncle.
There She Had Him.
He hadn't quite come up to her
tandard and she refused his escort to
he picnic , He said :
"Why , your ' e as full of airs as a
land-organ to-day. "
"Maybe I am , " she tossed out.
'Anyhow I don't go with a crank. "
Sunny South.
. . .
* " ri" f * i.iBinfa"B * > f - n > M4ia
II ! § ! * * MiHiw ii tto .liiiimw ! i in iiijw.nmi i.iBin
"I know a place" tho old man said ,
Where such as I , can rest ;
Where there's a shelter for tho head
Of every ageil guest. "
"Where none that are Infirm and old ,
Are driven from tt-e door ;
'for all arc welcome to that fold ,
Ana doubly so the poor. "
"You doubtless speak of heaven , myfrlcndl'
The listening parson said ;
"Ah ! yes. up there all sorrows end ,
Up there no tears are shed. "
"Nay , nay. " the ancient one replied ,
" 'TIs not of heaven I speak ;
I mean the work-house , sir , " he sighed ,
"Where I have been a week. "
* Hal Berte , in The Arkamaw Traveler.
18 Perils of iitlorsll
Mildred's pretty face wore a new ex
pression as she toyed with her teaspoon
and tried to finish her roll , and coffee.
John had just left her for his office.
They had been married three months ,
and tho serious aspects of life were for
the first time presenting themselves.
The problem of income and outgo
had made a fair showing on paper. A
small apartment fuel and gas includ
ed one servant , and with such loads
of wedding presents , absolutely noth
ing to buy , they could actually save
rnone } ' . But , somehow , thero were
leaks which had not been considered ,
and ten dollars covered a much smaller
amount in time and space than John or
Mildred had supposed.
"I wish I could do something to help
John , " thought Mildred , as she gazed
abstractedly out of the window. "He
has to work so hard , " and she gave a
little sigh.
"What can I do ? " she pondered.
"What can I do ? " she asked herself
again and again , as with deft touch she
straightened and arranged the dainty
apartment. •
Suddenly her face looked as if a aoor
had opened and Hooded it wit h sun
"I know what I will do ; I will write
a story. I know lean if I try. People
do not have to be so awfully clever to
do that. It is a knack , not a talent.
There is Mrs. , who has made heaps
of money ; and her stories are only poor
trash all of them. John says so , "
Before another hour had passed the
outline of a plot was dancing in her
excited young brain , and as soon as she
could get the time she sat down with
pad and sharpened pencil. Then canib
a pause. "How shall it begin ? "
She drew little geometric figures on
the margin of her paper as she reflect
ed , her thoughts seeming to revolve in
a circle , returning even to the place
from whence they started. Finally she
wrote :
"In a small village on the banks of "
"Oh , that is so commonplace. No ;
that will not do. " And she tore off the
first sheet of her pad and reflected ,
again , then wrote :
"Frank Atwood was the only son of
"No , no ; that is too stupid. " and the
second sheet of tiie pad went into the
waste paper basket.
She recalled what John had said of
the superfluous three paces , which
might with benefit to most stories be
eliminated for John was a journalist
and literrry critic , and his standard and
ideals were just on the measure of her
own. So she thought with great defer
ence of what he had said about tedious
"He is right , " she said with decision.
"It is the personal interest in the char
acters which we are looking for in read
ing a storv. AH that comes * before
that is tedious superfluity.
"I will dasli right on with a letter
from the heroine , which will at once
explain the situation. " So with tiie con
fidence which came from feeling her
self at last on the right track , she
wrote :
" 'Dear Frank. I return herewith
the letters , which of course I have now
no right to keep. I need not tell you
what it costs me.
" * I have reflected much upon what
you said yesterday , but I am at last re
solved. I will not see you again. Any
attempt to make me break the resolve
will be fruitless. God knows you have
only yourself to blame that this mar
riage has '
• • Please , ma'am , " said the cook , com
ing suddenly in upon the young author
ess. "Please , ma'am , the butcher is
here. Will you come and see him and
give the order yerself about havin'
them chop3 frenched or whatever it
is. "
"Oh , what a bore , " sighed Mildred.
"I was just getting into the swing of
it. " And she left the manuscript upon
her desk to be resumed later.
The matter of the chops disposed of
there were other things requir ng atten
At last , however , she was at her desk
again. She red over the letter with
which her stoiy opened to see how it
sounded. "Really , she said , "I think
that starts off very well , " and then she
took up the broken thread. "Only
vourself to blame that this marriage
has " A violent ringing at the tele
phone again broke the current. "Hel
lo , " said our young novelist.
"Mildred , is that you ? "
"Yes , is it you , Alice ? "
"Yes. Mamma does not feel very
well and wishes you to take luncheon
with us She has sent the c.irriage.
Be ready to come as soon as it ar
rives. " Obviously no more authorship
to-day. So slipping her paper in her
lesk she departed.
Now John was a nice sort of fellow.
But wc may as well acknowledge at
aneE that he was not so heroic , nor so
wise , nor so infallible an authority as
ais wife supposed.
She had taken the outline of the real
John , touched it up with the glowing
lolors of her imagination and out of it
had made an ideal John , which , while
it bore a strong resemblence to the real ,
was nevertheless largely a work of "art.
But. after subtracting these additions
" or the real , there was still left a very
excellent fellow , with good talents ,
which he was using with rather bril
liant effectiveness m journalism and
- 1 - - * - -
1111 mi
various kinds of litorary work ; win
was adorningly fond of his wife , am
hail not yet recovered from his surpris
at his excessive good fortune in possess
ing that much-coveted treasure fo
whom he had much contended , witi
many others , in those anxious days o
courtship. And now there" she was a
home , waiting for him , while he wa
urging his brain to the top of its speed
anil driving his quill in eager haste
thinking only of what it would brin'
for him to lay at her feot
Mildred was right in thinking ho fol
anxious at times , for things did not al
ways turn out as he hoped. And hi
oftentimes felt disheartened when li <
thought that with the fullest moasun
of success which he could achieve ii
his profession could nevericld wha
so poerless a wife as Mildred deserved
For. of course , he had with his imagi
nation retouched tho real Mildred too
Tho new purpose of authorshij
brought a great light and hope int <
Mildred's life. Sho felt important
indeed that she was much moro impor
tant than people were aware. Tha
she was carrying a vorv large secret
that if John only knew !
Then she pictured to herself his road
in her stoiy , possibly reviewing it. Af
ter he has written all kinds of nicf
things about it I will tell him that J
am the author ; or and her hearl
turned cold and sick what if he should
say it was trash ? For , of course , Iik (
other good critics , John was seldon
pleased. If things wore all excellent ,
what would be the need of critics ? Sc
he had cultivated the art of discovering
flaws in what seemed to ordinary read
ers pure gems. He had developed
rather a talent for pillorying people in
a single terse phrase , and was mucL
valued for his sk.ll in beating down
with the editorial club tender young
aspirants who were trying to make
themselves heard. This sounds brutal
ButJie was only professionlly brutal.
In his personal characteristics none
could be more tender or sympathetic
Mildred knew of this caustic vein anc
believed it , too as she did also oi
John's attributes and gifts "but , " she
thought , if ho shouUKsay any of those
dreadful things about me ; what should
I do ? I should never never tell himf
And so during the entire day she
thought and planned. Few intricacies
of plot suggesting themselves ' vivid
and interesting scenes coming before
her stimulated imagination.
Her mother urged her remaining and
sending for her husband to dine witt
them. Her secret desire was to return ,
but she looked at her mother's wistful
face and had not the heart to refuse.
She would stay and send for John.
That gentleman arrived at home al
the usual hour. As he put his latch
key into tiie door he smiled , thinking
of the quick ear wh'eh was listening foi
it. and of the pretty apparition which
would meet him in the hall. "By
Jove. " he thought , "what a lucky fel
low I am ! "
But tfie expected figure did not meet
him. He was conscious of a little chill
of disappointment , and still more as he
wandered through the rooms and founc
all silent and deserted.
He rang for the maid.
"Where is your mistress ? "
' Sho is out sir. There ' s a note * s ' r ,
somewhere , " and she looked anxious
ly about. "Oil , it is on the desk. " said
she with returning memory , starting tc
go for it.
"No matter ; 1 will get it , and John
turned his impatient steps toward hi :
wife's room.
There was no note on the der-k , and
quite naturally he opened the lid. His
eyes were riveted upon the words be
fore him.
"Dear Frank : I return herewith the
letters which I have no longer anv
right to keep. I need not tell you what
it eosts me "
He felt as if his blood were turned
into ice.
" 1 have reflected much upon what
j'ou said yesterday "
"Yesterday ! " John felt as if he were
roing mad. "Yesterday ! " and he had
50 trusted her ! The room had growr
black and a great sledge hammer was
beating his brain , but he read on
"upon what you said jesterday , but
[ am at last resolved. I will not see
rou again. An } ' attempt to make me
break this resolve will be fruitless. God
mows you have only yourself to blame
; hat this marriage has "
John stood for a few moments as il
; urned into stone , his face blanched , his
jiuscles tense. Then a rav of hope
seemed to come to him. "There is nc
signature ; it is not hers. " He looked
igain. How could he doubt it ? He
cnuw too well the turn of every letter ,
tie was alternately livid with rage and
'hoking with gr-ef. Hs : dream of hap
piness vanished. Something like 2
: urse came from between his closec
"She loves this man , and she meets
dm and tells him so , and only yesler
la } ' . Oh. it is too horrible ! " too horri-
) le ! " He buried his face in his hands
tnd groaned. "I shall ; o away ; I shall
lever " At that moment the tele-
) hone bell rang. He took no notice of
t. "I shall never " Again it rang
ong and and loud. What should he
lo ? There was no .one else to answer
t ; he must go. So he said huskily ,
• Hello ! "
Mildred's silvery vo ' ce replied , "John ,
sthat you ? "
The situation was shocking. How
: ouId he reply ? but there was nc
ime for reflection. lie knew that the
Central otlice would share all his con-
idences through that infernal piece of
ilaek walnut and obonv. So he said.
"Yes. "
"Why do yon not come ? Dinner i3
vaiting for you. "
How well he knew the pretty inllex-
ons of that voice !
"I wish no dinner I am going away
-good-bye. "
It misrht have been the convetional
elephonic "good-bye , " or it might
ontain a profounder meaning.
The effect at the other end of the
ine cannot be described. Ten minutes
iter a cab drove furiously up to ; the
oor of the Apartment house , and
lildrcd , with white face and fast beat-
ng heart , rushed into tiie room , and
rould have rushed into John's arms il
ic had let her.
"You are going away ? " she said
"You are avery clever actress , " sad
that gontlcman repulsing hor intended |
u mi ) race. >
"A what ? " said she , amazed. "John , |
what's the " I
"A very clever actress , " said he , 1
quite as if sho had not spoken , "but |
hereafter wo will have a more perfect 1
understanding , and you need not trou- I
bio yourself. " |
"Why , John , " said sho , "have you I
lost your souses ? " . |
"No ; on tho contrary , I havo recov- 1
ered them. I am no longer a dupe. I I
was fool enough to think you " |
"John , for God s sake tell mo what
this means ! "
"Oh , Mildred ! Mildred ! " said ho , V
breaking down utterly. "Why did you
not tell me like an honest woman that
you loved some one else ? " I
"John , you know. I "
"Stop ! " said he. "Stop ! do not stain
your soul with any moro falsehood.
"You need not have married. 1110 , " I
went on tho wretched man. "God |
knows I wish you had not. " 1
Sho tried to put her arms about him S
as ho paced to and fro in rapid strides , 1
but ho pushed her away angrily. "No , |
no more of that. That lias lost its |
charm. " . * / I
Mildred burst into tears.
"I never would hayo believed
ycu would be so so cruel , " sobbed j
she. "What have I done ? "
"Done ? " shouted the exasperated- 1
man. "Why , you have spoiled the life f
of an honest man , who doted on you , f
believed on you like a trusting fool
who would have risked his life on your /
honesty " \
"Stop ! " said Mildred , and she gath- /
ered herself up to a fuller height than - ' ,
John's eyes had ever before beheld in j I
her. She too was angry now. ,
"If you have charges to make I dc- • ' ,
mand that they be definite , and not in ,
base innuendo. You are very cruel and
and also very insulting to me. 1 shall ' (
not remain in this house to-night , nor ' >
return to it until you have apologized. " '
And she swept from the room aud from ;
John's astonished sight. i
A moment later he heard the messen- ;
ger call , then heard his wifegiyo an or- I
dcr far a cab , then saw her packing a }
handbag. He intended doing the same j
things himself. But somehow having- , -
her do them was infinitely harder to * _ j
bear. \ (
Mildred was very angry. "Not a V
thing of his , " she said to herself , as
she stripped off her rings and gathered . ,
her trinkets. "My purse , too , " she ii
thought and went to the desk to find it. j
Her husband had been watching for 1
this. He knew siie would try to secure
that letter. •
"Ah , " said he , "you are alittlo'too
late. You should have thought of that ,
before. " J
These , to his unmeaning words ut- \ '
tered with much concentrated bitterness s
made her seriously doubt his sanity. She 'ij
looked at him curiously. How else h
could she construe the incomprehensi'J
ble fury ? She pursued , the thought 13
had calmed the resentment. She went jl
to Ills side , placed her hand kindly on \
his arm. "My dear John , " said " she , 1
"will you explain to mo what all this * 'j '
means ? " > J
He felt touched , aud oh , how he , > i
longed to take her to his hearl ; but / 'j '
that could never be again. I
"Will you first explain to me , " ho y 1
answered , trying to lie hard and cold , |
"explain to me where you were vester- * i |
" * il
[ lay ?
"Certainly he is mad , " she thought. J
md she tried to be very calm. " 'J
"Ah , yes , " lie weit on. "You can J
look very innocent , but. woman , look ' 1
it that. " and with tragic gesture he I
held up the paper. 1
Mildred looked at it bewildered ; then jl
die read , "Dear Frank. " A gleam of M
ight came into her face , and gradually 1
lcepened into an expression of interest ' 1
md amusement. She understood it M
ill. 1
John looked to see her crushed , de- il
ipairmg and penitent ; and instead he | ]
vitnessed this unaccustomed , this ex- < 1
inordinary , change ; and laughter peal ,3
ifter peal of silvery laughter rang 'j '
.hrough the rooms. She tried to speak M
ait could not. | l
John iu his turn began to think that m
; he was mad. Jjfl
At last , with tears rolling down her < M
: heeks , not from grief this time , she M
aid : \M \
"Oh , you dear silly silly thing. Oh , M
• on dear goose that's my story and L * - m
vas going to surprise you and bring iM
rou ever ever so much money and. m
low you have gone and spoiled " fa
md here she began to cry in earnest. • m
• And you have said such cruel , ; l
-cruel " 'M
Her sobs , together with. John's great '
infolding arms , stiflud the rest. "Ob , m
ay angel , my angel. 1 have been such ; 9
. brute. Can you ever forgive me ? " ' iU
That was what John said ; but this \M \
ien refuses to attempt the portrayal of jl
k'hat he felt. He had been a willing
, nd a loving slave before , aud now he >
ras in addition a penitent and crest- [ M
alien one besides. And so his chains fl
rere riveted anew. ( 'M
As hinted before , John had a profes- • < U
ional character quite distinct from his \M \
[ omestic one. This quality affords a
nuch needed outlet to perturbed spir ( m
' , s ; hence as he turned towaids his of(9 (
ce the next morning an ominously '
torn look came into his face. , !
Tiie unfortunate man whose first 9
00k he reviewed that day never sus- fl
ected that the average criticism which t M
cry nearly threw him into a nervous 'fl
jver , and quite into despair , was al- fl
lost entirely by the mi adven- .
ires just related. Xeiv York Graphic. jjfl
His Aunt Was a Daisy. ( 'fl
"I wish would * fl
you go away on an- (
ther visit , Mama , * ' said a little bov to fl
is mother , who had just returned from ] fl
two weeks ' visit in the country. ifl
Aunt Mary is a daisy housekeeper. " " ? • jfl
"Did you have a good time , Bonnie , S
hile Ivas away ? " jfl
"Well. I should smile. " replied the jH
oy. "Aunt Mary just let us have all jfl
le fun we wanted. " >
* I guess she allowed you children too 'jfl
lany privileges. " H
"That's all rijjht. Mama. Aunt Mary fl
a darling , and I wil stani ! up for her r fl
very time. She is just like ' me , when } jfl
run away from school. " ( jfl
"I do not understand you , my son , " i jfl
lid Mama. , jfl
"Well , she is a tru-ant" FretzcVs i jfl
Teckly. j H
. . .