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HE Kent father and son came to Chicago
whn Dan was a small boy, so that the latter
Boon forgot about all he knew of Odsburg and
It people. If he had been older he might have
been gladder to forget It, for there misfortune
had overtaken his family, his mother had
died, and his vague recollection of the place
pictured the one long, dismal street down
which he rode In a carriage to the cemetery where the
autumn leaves reeked In a cold rain and the clay falling Into
a grave sounded like the thump of his old toy drum.
Dan Kent, having a merry heart, didn't want to cherish
any such dreary memories. So he had grown to manhood
without revisiting the home of his Infancy, not so his father.
The old man managed to stay away from the scene of his
disaster till Joshua Colvtn died. Then he went to the funeral
it his old friend and partner, and ever after, up to the time
r his death, maintained a habit of periodical visits to the
Ul home town. Dan thought this odd at first; then he be
Kan to suspect that there was some old, long burled romance
1 t ween his father and the Widow Colvln,
" You're right, Dan," said the old man, when his son
twitted htm about the Odsburg visits. " I'd marry her now
if I wasn't so old and poor, and If you take my advice you'll
tro ifter her daughter, Kate."
They were like brothers In their frank and loving rela
tionship In those days, and Dan, who liked to banter his
fnther, was almost glad to "have something" on the old
man. But when the elder Kent grew feeble he talked
always more and more of the Colvlns. If they were a joke
with Dan. they wtre not so with his father.
X
Tine M3MQ)esiiire9s HeeymdDdDe,
i.
HQ bartender peered timidly out of the door,
like a bather confronting a maximum of spine
II cnllling sea with a minimum of clothing and
I courage.
"Ugh!" he shivered. "Cold, ain't it?"
" There's a knife In the air, there is," re
plied the policeman, who had been praying
for hours for that door to open.
Inside there was fresh sawdust on the floor, the urn was
steaming, and there was a smell of hot whisky. It was the
atmosphere of luxury to the stragglers who wandered in
battered hulks of humanity, who, with twitching fingers,
scraped out of hidden recesses the toll that admitted them
to this haven.
A woman was amongst the tittle crowd, though not of
them. Some trace of better days, of gentility, differentiated
her. But she was falling Into the lowest pit. This was the
tirst time she had ever entered a saloon and called for drink.
It was gin she ordered a large gin, and she gulped It
down hot. When she emerged Into the street again her
worldly wealth amounted to a nickel and 'a cent She had
had that cent a long time, for she had kept It for luck. And
when the nickel was spent ah would still have the penny
and the same luck.
It was near tbs end of the Journey now. She bad strug
rled and had failed, and ah was going to be turned adrift
without a root to crouch under.
The previous day ber landlord bad sued her for arrears
of rent She had gone to the court and told ber story a
I itlful story blurted out with all the eloquence of unstudied
simplicity. The Judge bad looked severely upon ber, though
he had apoken kindly; the landlord had reminded ber of a
hungry wolf. There was a sea of faces In a gloomy, dirty
room, and she bad stood In a box high up for the view of
every one. She remembered this much, and then the picture
ass blurred. It appeared that she bad fainted and was ear
ned out
Her senses recovered, they gave her a quarter and said
something about making Inquires. She did not know what
they meant; but she knew she had 25 cents and that she was
hungry. She was always hungry, but she bad not always
a quarter. She went straightway and spent IS cents In on
ft U swoop In one riotous Lucullan orglel What a feast It
'.
After It she crawled hark sated to her garret, east her
tewing aside, and slept She awoke In the early morning.
"I wish you'd go up and see tbem," he would say. "I
can't any more, and Dan I wish you'd see Kate young
Kate. Bet you'd fall In love with her In spite of yourself,
f wish you would, and marry her."
And a few days before he died!
" Dan, If anything happens to Kate or her mother, will
you do what you can for themT Promise, Dan. You'll write
to them, anjhow."
When his father died, Dan grieved like a man, and re
gained his spirits like the wholesome, olean hearted youth
he was; but he forgot about the Colvlns after he bad an
swered the widow's letter of condolence. He remembered
them again when he saw In the Odsburg Banner the obituary
of Mrs. Kate Nlebllng Colvln. He ought to have gone to
Odsburg to comfort the orphan girl, but he disliked funeral
and he couldn't get over his gloomy Impression of the old
town. 80 be wrote a letter to Kate, as he had promised his
shivering, and recourse to liquor to something fiery and
potent suggested Itself. Now she was going again to her
rarret. without a banquet this time; but with the warmth of
the alcohol In her veins.
In the little squalid room at the top of the creaking stairs
she threw herself on the bare mattress, and half sleeping,
lialf awake, dreamed the hours away.
Was shs still dreaming when there came a knock at the
dcor, and a beautiful woman In a rustling gown stepped
anxiously towards ber bed?
Her face was sngello with the sweetness of youth, and
kindliness and concern beamed from her eyes.
"You are Mrs. Albert Forshaw?" she said, touching her
on the shoulder. " How you frightened me, lying there so
still!"
The women rose from the bed. No, It was not a dream.
" I read of your case In the papers," the visitor went on,
"and, O, how glad I am to be able to help, you I In this
envelope are five $25 notes, and here Is some loose silver.
This Is a letter to a dressmaker who will give you work.
No; don't thank me. Mine Is the blessing to be able to give
to help. How easily might fate have ordained that you
should be In my piece and I In yours. Then you would have
done something to help me. wouldn't you?"
She laughed brightly, with tears glistening In ber eyes.
It was good to look upon her.
"Qood-byl I shall hear bow you get on through my
dressmaker."
The room seemed to go suddenly . dark, the bad gone.
The rumble of carriage .wheels came up from the street
below.
' II.
It was early morning at sea, and sunbeam and breese
waged a friendly contest as to which oould be the pleasanter.
Otlbert Rhode Jeana. a tall, alert figure In White ducks, stood
on ths deck of the great liner, taking a dose, as be said, of
the tonla of the scene.
"Ill give the prise to the breese," he remarked to the
woman who leaned gently on bis arm.
" And I to ths sunshine."
M You love the sunshine?"
" I would thst it was in every one's life as It la. and baa
been, In mine."
He gased at ber with proud admiration.
"You are really happy. Beatrice?"
"Really, really."
In the bright morning light It was easy to guess their
father, sending such words of comfort as a stranger
must, but offering to be of any assistance In his
power. He scarcely expected a reply, but he got one
within a week.
It was a stilted, studied letter. She was grateful
for kind words from the son of her mother's kind
friend. She would do quite well, she thought, when
she got back to her work as a school teacher. Her
work might help her to forget. It was a dismal let
terJust like Odsburg, he thought and he did not
answer It. A month later he got another from her.
Would he kindly buy for her Klnyon's pedagogical
chart? It would cost. about $1, which she Inclosed.
" I will be ever so much obliged," she concluded. He
found the chart, which cost $3, and sent her a note
in which he said he was glad to be of service. He
didn't mention that he was loser by $2 In the trans
action. Within a fortnight another letter came to him
from Kate Colvln In which she said that she had
Just learned the chart had cost $3, perhaps more, and
that she " would return the balance the moment her
salary was paid. " They are In arrears with me for
the last two months," the letter said, " but I am sure they
will pay us before Christmas."
To Dan Kent t.ere was something poignantly sad In the
plain, simple, but uncomplaining statement of the country
school teacher's poverty. Two dollars! He was making
money and spending It as lavishly as a self-respecting young
man could. Evidently poor Kate Colvln could not spare $2
from a scanty hoard that might not be replenished for
months. He was a generous, tender fellow, and, somehow
that bald, almost childlike confession of a girl's lonely
struggle for the benefits which he won so easily and re
garded so lightly, gave a sharp sting to his gentle spirit and
clouded his radiant face.
Then he made a natural but a most egregious mistake.
He wanted to write a kind, sympathetic, and helpful letter,
but he let a lot of sentiment Into It Sentimental passages
never look right to a sensible girl who reads them in a
ages. Hers you would have fixed at 29, his at 42. Tbey had
been married a week, and were on their honeymoon trip to
America. He was a British millionaire.
"And you, Gilbert, are you happy?" She asked the
question placidly, as one confident of the answer. " You
are not money making now, you know."
" No." he replied musingly, " I am not money making
now. And this Is the first week for fifteen years that I have
not been. Ah, America!" he exclaimed his eyes were grsve,
bis voice bantering" you never had but blows and cuffs
for me. But now I've got you on the hip. I can compel you
to drop your surliness and smile upon me. The sun shines
when It rains dollars."
" You are cynical, Gilbert. I don't like to hear you talk
like that I don't think It is your true self." ,
" My dear child, my true self is much worse and was
worse still before I met you!" He placed a hand caressingly
on hers. "Since I grew to love you, Beatrice, and know
the gentleness of your heart It has opened, as It were, a
new department In my nature. I never traded in these goods
before, but now the demand seems"
She held up a warning finger, laughing.
"Hush, hush!" she cried. "Cannot you keep commer
cialism out of your sentiment?"
" No," he answered. " Sentiment Is valueless without
commercialism. You. with your soft hearted passion for
nelplng people, would have found your sorrow unavailing
without the means to give practical assistance. Pity Is a
grand thing, but it does not fill an empty stomach."
" Which reminds ms that It la time for breakfast," said
she.
"That Is practical sentiment," be acquiesced, as they
went below.
In the glow of a hot afternoon sun the same day they
leunged on deck chairs. He was reading from a notebook.
" And all these are your retainers?" he asked.
" Who Is Marcell Brunlere? Quite a romantlo name."
" She Is a milliner who would have died but for a for
tunate accident She was wrongly arrested for theft and
ber whole story csme out"
"Sure It was wrongly?"
" Yea A case of mistaken Identity. It was fuliy proved."
"And Hester Gwynne? Another pretty name."
In brief chapter beads she recounted her story, too, and
that of half a dosea others whose names appeared In tb
book. He kept turning over the leavea and calling tbem out
letter from a man she has never seen. Besides. Dan wasn't
exactly a master of rhetoric at that time, and what he wrote
could have been couched In terms of Infinitely greater tact
and delicacy by any second rate romance writer. His worst
faux pas, however, was In Inclosing a postofflee order for
$50, " a loan, of course," he wrote, " which I trust you will
accept until such time," etc.. eto.
It was awful, of course, but Dnn was young, and he
meant to do a kind office to the orphan girl In Odsburg.
When he mailed the letter It dawned upon him that he had
rrado an ass of himself. The more he conned over the sen
tences which he had meant to be the finest, the surer he was
that they were coarse. Impertinent, Idiotic. She would be
offended at his tone. Insulted at his offer to loan her money.
" I feel that there Is a bond of sympathy between us," etc.,
had been the best he could think of as " an approach " to
the mention of a loan, but now It sounded Inexpressibly silly.
He got her answer by return mall, and when he tore open
the envelope the 50 fell on the floor. " Serves me right," he
gasped, but his eyes began to bulge when he saw the first
line of the letter Itself:
" Dear, dear friend," It began. " Sad, sad, Indeed, must
that heart -e which cannot be cheered by the sweet delicacy
and soulful sympathy of a friend like you. O, how my lone
ly heart goes out responsive, and yet"
" Ratal"
That's what Dan said. He could hardly force himself to
read It. If his letter had been badly framed, hers was the
dregs of gush. A wild hope that Kate Colvln hadn't written
It seised him, but the narrowest comparison showed It to be
her handwriting. There was nothing absolutely Immodest In
her hysterical epistle, but It fairly onsed sentimentality,
which Dan was sure he would always despise In a woman.
" Olad to get back my fifty, anyhow." he sneered, pock
eting the order and tearing the letter with one angry Jerk.
Then he paused, put the torn edge of her communication to
gether, and reread It " O, how my lonely heart goes out
responsive." That line started him, and he laughed till the
bookkeeper stared and the stenographer joined In the merriment.
By
" What a host of them," he commented. " Surely you
don't act as banker to them all?"
"Ah, nol I could not have afforded it, unhappily. Some
are dead, some are doing so well as not to need further help,
some I have lost sight of."
Hs closed the book and handed It to her. For awhile ha
was strangely silent His cigar went out and dropped from
his fingers on to the deck.
"And Mrs. Forshaw," be asked at last "Mrs. Albert
Forshaw, who was she?"
"A pitiful case, Gilbert, most pitiful. Her husband bad
deserted her, and she had been trying to exist on 50 cents a
week. Think of it millionaire, 50 cents a week! A woman
of some gentility at one time, too, I should fancy."
"She belongs to those who are dead, I suppose?"
"Indeed, no; I bops not It was only two months ago
that I knew of ber."
Outwardly he was quite calm, but there was a deadly
sickness In his heart Some one passed by and said that
land was In sight
"The land and the old luck!" muttered Gilbert under bla
breath.
His eyes sought the woman by his side. She was Intent
upon her needlework, beautiful, young, radiant, happy a
woman as " good as gold "; how much better than his gold?
" What must I do for her sake?" he thought
III.
New York Is a great, rambling place, but to Gilbert Rhode
,'eans it wss stifling. At times he contemplated a sudden
flight on the pretense of urgent .business. But she was so
happy amid the whirl of visits and receptions, and he could
not leave ber aide. No; be must wait and meet the blow.
He felt It was Inevitable, but faeclnated, he could not retreat
And one day It came though It was not exactly the kind
of blow he had expected.
There was a prelude to Its delivery. It happened In his
wife's boudoir, when Mrs. Albert Forshaw, now a sucoesstul
dressmaker, came to visit ber old patroness.
She fell on her knees and kJssed ber hand, big. earnest
tears In her eyes.
" Angel," she murmured, " bow can I ever bless and
thank you enough!"
Her benefactress raised er gently. Could this be tbs
wreck of a woman she had seen lying In the garret? The
hollow cheeks were filled out, the wasted figure rounded the
rags had given place to a neat black gown. A glow of pride
ewept through her veins. Yes, shs had rescued this woman;
" Til get back at her," thought Pan Kent ss he opened his
desk. And he spent two hours that evening trying to outdo
the florid periods of his Odsburg proteg. But he didn't send
back the fifty. On Saturday he got an answer that fairly
scintillated with flashes of Cupid's arrows. He had supposed
that his letter rose to every ftlsht of sentimental hyperbole,
rut It seemed commonplace and tawdry beside the glittering
fabric of her latest epistolary composition.
He had to get " The Children of the Abbey " from the
publlo library before he could answer that letter, and. In or
der to stimulate her to a still more gorgeous effusion, ne
wound up his ecstatic billet with a superbly servile petition
for her picture. He said "counterfeit presentment " first,
but for fear she'd regard that as a mercenary allusion he
scratched t ie words away and substituted " fair Image."
The photograph that arrived In the next letter wss worthy
of the foolish girl's correspondence. A simpering weak
smile, evidently calculated to display two pretty dlmplrs and
a row of the white teeth; a mass of Huffy blond hair, falling
almost to the eyebrows; a white Inwn dress of the style that
had been considered "smart" a few years ago; banjjle rings
on the dainty fingers!
" She looks the part." laughed Dan, " and If I don't send
her my picture now this sport will come to a sudden end."
The letter suggested an exchange, and Dan, in the exuber
ance of what seemed such a capital Joke, determined to send
her the picture of his barber, a dashing young gallant with
melancholy black eyes and a tightly waxed Wllhelm mus
tache. It was Kent's Irrepressible love of fun that had led him
Into this thoughtless and, for him, unkind correspondence.
But the letters had passed so rapidly and with such increas
ing and almost outlandish expressions of romantic emotion
that he had not taken time to look at any but the funny
Bide of the affair. He had shown the letters to nobody, de
stroying them as soon as they were read. Whin he had
mailed the barber's photograph to Kate with his autograph
on Us back he resolved to make an end of an escapade
which was just beginning to cloy. I
As he grew serious, he reflected upon the folly " follyt
Perhaps It was mean of me," he thought; and this last Idea
held him so that ha went home and wrote an honest, manly
letter to the girl Irt which he strove to exonerate himself.
He knew she would forgive him for returning her photo
graph, he s.-.ld, and for asking her to forget the whole epi
sode, which, he hoped, had given her as much harmless mer
riment ss It had given to him. The tone of this letter was so
modest, so sensible, so self-deprecating, and so completely
disillusioning that Dan thought as he dropped It In the mail
box: "Dad would have liked that letter. I would never have
written the others If he had been with me."
That was Monday. Thursday was Thanksgiving d-iy.
and as Dan Kent was to be the guest at a banquet that even
ing, he resolved to get a substantial meal in his favorite
cafe. The place was crowded with diners, and he looked In
vain for a familiar face. The head waiter found a place
for him it a table at which sat a woman alone. She was
modestly but quite fashionably attired, young perhaps 20.
at ease, with an odd mixture of confidence and shyness. Her
black eyes shone with the light of a brave and quick Intel
ligence. Her swart hair drooped about her small ears In
smooth snd glistening tresses. Her red mouth
Dan had got thus far In his subconscious cataloguing of
the beautiful woman opposite him when she darted one
angry glance at him In which there was ah unanswerable re
proof for his fascinated stare. It vanished as quickly as It
came. She drew from her reticule a parcel of papers, read
a clipping and then unfolded his letter to Kate Clovln with
the same photograph of the Odsburg school teacher that he
had mailed on Monday! He started, looked again, stood
up, and betrayed his curiosity by leaning forward.
She glared at him, looked frightened for an Instant and
then flushed with anger.
"How dare you!" was. all she said, but the emphasis of
her low voice helped him.
" I beg your pardon, madam," he answered, sitting down.
' I wrote that letter myself to the girl whose picture you
have there, and It startled me to see It In your hand. " I am
the ' Dan ' of that letter, Daniel Kent "
He stopped short. Her face was wreathed In smiles.
" Why, Dan," she commenced, In that same sweetly,
stinging voice. "No! Are you Daniel Kent? The picture?
Anyhow, If you're Daniel Kent, or Just a friend of his who
helped him try to make a fool of a country girl, you're both
mistaken. I'm Kate Colvln."
She began the sentence with a coo and ended It with a
rasp.
Dan was dumfounded, but he got out his card and gave
It to her.
" Well, you might have known I wasn't the kind to
borrow money from a man I had never seen," she said, smil
ing, and her brune cheeks red. " You might have known I
wasn't fool enough to write drivel to an utter stranger.
As for you, I thought you were a downright Idiot until I got
that last letter. That rang true. I came down to Chicago to
pay you the $2 I owe you, and to"
"But, Kate," asked the delighted Daniel, "what prompt
ed you to start the foolishness?"
" O, I didn't like your sending that money and well, I
didn't want to be pitied, either. I Imagined you were one
of those Chicago smarties and well, It was dull In Odsburg;
it's always dull there."
"And now we've met and found, each other out, Kate"
They laughed like children, looking frankly Into one an
other's happy faces.
"It's Thanksgiving, Dan," she said.
" I'll give thanks that this holding out the picture of the
pudgy blonde Isn't you," he laughed. ,
" And 111 give thanks that you couldn't look like this!"
And she ..eld out the picture of the dashing barber. ,
And they dined so merrily together that Dan forgot every- '
thing but Kste, and Kate nearly forgot to pay back the $2.
Jesse Norfhlisi.
she had picked her out of the morass and put her on the
high road to a life worthy of the name.
" You must not call me angel," she said, choking back
her emotion. " I will have no title except my husband's.
I am Mrs. Rhode Jeans."
" I read all about your marriage. How I hope you will
always be happy!"
"Ah! I am happy; I shall always be happy! I have the
dearest husband In the world!" She laughed gayly In the
fullness of her Joy; then checked herself, remembering the
tragedy of the other's life.
" Forgive me for parading my happiness. Your fate was
so different Have you ever heard anything of of him?"
"No, nothing." Her eyes gleamed. "But If I did) Ah,
I have dreamed such revenges!"
"You loved him?"
"Yes, I loved him once; but now"
She turned aside, hatred fierce and relentless Imprinted
on her face. And ss she turned there was Albert Forshaw,
her husband, looking straight at her. It was his portrait
on the mantel shelf, and It bora the autograph, " Gilbert
Rhode Jeans."
Bo the great millionaire was Albert Forshaw, a scamp
and a bigamist What a revenge was here!
But yes, there was a "but." There was the woman as
well as the man the woman who stood near her, the woman
through whom she was alive today, through whom she wss
well nourished and warmly clothed, through whom she
lived no longer In a filthy garret
That scene In the garret! Sho saw It all again, and heard
that gentle voice saying, "How easily might fate have or
dained that you should be In my place and I In yours; then
you would have helped me, wouldn't you?"
There are moments in life when we seem to go through
ages of torment. Here was this woman goaded one way by
the cry for revenge, urged the other by the soft voice of
gratitude. The contending forces seemed to wsge an enliess
battle. And yet weak woman though she was. she beat
down the stronger force and gave forgiveness ths victory.
Her lips never told of her discovery.
It Was the next morning that the blow fell upon blm
i.ot the shattering blow be bad anticipated, but a blow that
left a wound that would not heal.
It came In a long letter. " Your gold Is dross." shs con-,
eluded; ' but she Is gold, true gold, and shall not be tar
nished. Though I have broken my oath to be revenged; I
shall take It gladly again If you blot one speck of sunshine
out of ber life."
