Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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]BY AA~ CN~ &-A.MWILLIA cOpnytGT.lso*. M-G1..URL.Pn"PLL3 S CO. (Continueid.) '"Mriere maman! One would think we were vulgar adventuresses. We are not. He respects me, this dear young man, and it is right that he should. I deserve to be respected. You know the fable about the dog that dropped his meat in the water trying to snip at its reflection I Well, I don't ask strangers for loans. I make my impression. M. Hugh Egerton is my friend-=-at present. Later he will be what I choose. And most certainly I ' " shall choose him for a husband. What luck, meeting him again! It is time I settled down." "They said at Ritz's that he was one of the young millionaires, well known already in , America," the fat woman reflected aloud. "It is a good thing that I have. brought you up --- well, Julie, and that you are pretty." -3 "Yes, it is a good thin that I am pretty," repeated the girl "We have had many hopes often before, but this seems to be the most -'' promising. I think it is very promising indeed, and I don't me:.u tc let it slip." She turned her back to the easy chair and opened the pink bag. A " the woman talked on she secretly counted out the money. There were more than 10,000 francs in mile notes and others of smaller denomi nations. Quietly she put them away in the top of a traveling bo3, which she locked. Then she noticed the letter which the child had given her still lying on the dressing table with her glpves. "Here's something from la belle Americaine upstairs," said she, "a billet doux." "A dun I" exclaimed the woman. "No doubt. It can be nothing else." "Well, we can't pay." "No, we can't pay," said the girl, looking at the locked' box. "Let me see-how much was it she lent ?" "Two hundred francs, I think. We told her we'd give it bacc in a week. That's nearly a month ago." : "Serves her right for trusting strangers. ThE ! saints alone know when she'll see her money again. 9,She shouldn't be so soft hearted. It doesn't pay ir thes days." 3c, "Neither do we-when wre can help it." * They both laughed. "But when you are Madame-let me see, whai IJ''I.was the name of the young'monsieur?i They told you at the Ritzst" "Egerton." "Ah, yes! When you are Mmne. Egerton" ifar~ngia nvsf befr dierent ien." And the gfrl slipped the key of the box into the little pink bag. ETER delivering her letter the child went slowly on doWhistairs to the room she 'had been on the way to visit.. It was on thesecond fl oor just under the "Come in," said a cockney voice shrill with yoh in answer to her tap, and the tchild obeyed. Though this room was of the same size and shape, it was very dif ferent from that of the comtesse. The plain furniture was stiffly ar ranged, and there was no litter 'of clothing or small femixiine belong ings. By the window, which gave a glimpse of the sea and of Monaco rock, with the- old part of the palace,,%a plump young girl sat 'wth a baby a year or two old in her arms and a nui-se's cap on her smooth head. * You invited me to come down after I'd had my dejeuner, so I SALE oP PERSONAL PEOPERTY A Fortunate Taxen. At the late residence of B. H. M.E .Gole f17S Amick, deceased, is number 7 t0own-t, als Tx as:"nt ship, I will, as administrator, sell to ps erI aebcm cuit tha~ higebst bidder, therefor for eas h D.Kn' e Lf il,al on Monday, December 30, 1907, thenoaateIevrbfetidsof following described personal proper-fetaydipssomlraatdbi ty of which the said B. H. Amiek, iiSlS. hydntgidn iied seied nd pssesed:r. E. aW. ood e haf an S 8 uls,1 ore,3 agncrnLon's drug DasTex. sy:"nt foddstryeard farvenbecomeeaequaintet ho~ attle houeholdand ktche "DXTr," myg' fne stLio ill ani fu~iure.fservicel d in the ealari at Ji 8mes1hos,3 wagns A con, Son's rownsstabeo a Administrator. Knight on 's old stand. iM ,t J. B. e . "lLgtyo are, M Rosenma1," reiined the plump girl. "You're such a quaint little body you're a regular ireat. I declare I ain't 'alf sure I wouldn't rather talk to you than read the Princess Novelettes. Besides, I do get that tired of 'earin' nothin' but French I'm most sorry I undertook the job, and the biby don't pick up -_I Hinglish much yet." "Don't you think he's a bright baby ?" asked the child, sitting down on a footstool, which was a favorite seat of hers. "For a French biby 'e 's as bright as you could expect," replied her hostess judicially. "Are they different ?" "Well, they ain't Hinglish." "'m half American," said the little girl. "You don't talk through your nose. Far as I can see you've got as good haecent as me." "I suppose yours is good ?" asked Rosemary, as if she longed to have a doubt set forever at rest. "Rather! Ain't I been brought out from London on purpose so as this biby can learn toppeak Hinglish instead of French ? It's pretty near the sime thing as bein' nursery governess. Madame wouldn't trust her own wye of pronouncin' the languidge. She must 'ave a Hinglish girl." "And, she sent for you on purpose ?" ,the child inquired, with in creasing respect. "Well, I was the only one as would come at the price. 'Tain't big wages, but I'm seein' loife. Lor', I come down here with madame and mounseer a fortnight ago, and Monte Carlo ain't got many secrets from me. I was a duffer, though, at first. When I 'eerd all them shots poppin' off every few minutes up by the Casino I iieed to thbik 'twas the suieides a-shootin' theirselves all over the plae, for before I left '9me I 'ad a warnin' fran my young man that was the kind of goin's .6n they 'ad here. Ca* But now I how it's only the pigeon shooters tryin' for prizes, and I wouldn't eat a pigeon pie in this 'otel, not if 'twas ever so i" "Do they ever have them ?" asked the little 3) girl, awed. "Not as I knows of, but they may for Christmas. I sye, are you lookin' forward to your Christmas, kiddy ?" "Angel-that's mother, I mean-says I'm not goin' to have much of a Christmas this year. I'm trying not to mind. I suppose it's because 'Santa Claus can't get to the Riviera with his sleigh #nd reindeer. How could he, Miss Jane, when there's no snow and not even a scrap of ice ?" "Pshaw!" said Miss Jane. '"It ain't Santa Claus brings you things, snow or no snow. Only babies believe that. You're old enough to know better.'- It's your father and mother does it all." "Are you sure?i" asked Rosemary. "Ded sured. Don'thys9yllyanWcry now, just because there ain't any Santa Claus nor any fairies." 'It isn't that," said the little girl. "It's because I can never have any more Christmases.if it depends on a father. You know, I haven't a father." "I sup d you 'adni't, as5'e ain't 'ere with yer ma,"2 replied the 7mgpeoav "$he?s inhty'pntty?. "I think she's the prettiest miother in the world," said Rosemary proudly. "She don't look much like a mother." The child opened her eyes very wide at this new point of view. "I couldn't have a mother who looked any other way," she said. "What do you think she does look like ?" "Silly puss ! I only mean sh~e isn't much more'n a kid 'erself." *"She's twenty-five, twenty whole years more than m e. Isn't that old ?" "Lawks, no! I'm goin' on seventeen myself. I 'aven't got any father, no more'n you 'aye, so I can feel for you. Your ma 'as to do typewritin'. Mine does charri'. It's !~)' I ~ much the sime thing." ~\ f~"Is it ?" asked Rosemary. "Angel doesn't * like typewriting so very well. It makes her ~ shoulder ache, but it isn't that she minds. It's not having enough work to -do." ~~ "Bless your hinnercent 'eart, charrmn' byz~kT \ mikes you ache all over! Betcher ,loife my ma'd chinge with yours if she could." ~"Would she?i But Angel doesn't get on at - all well here. Proe heard -her telling a lady sh etsome money to and wanted to have it bakafter awhile. You see, when we were ..left poor, people said that she could make lots ~. of money in Paris, because they pay a good Sdeal there for the things Angel does, but oth er-s seemed to have got all the work for themselves before we went over to Paris to live, so some friends she had told her it would be bet ter to try here, where there was no-n'o com-com" - "No compertishun,'1. suggested the would be nursery governess. a."Yes, that's the right word, I think. But there wls some, after al.Poor Angel's so sad. She doesn't quite know what we'll do next, for we haven't much money left." "She's got a job of char-I mean typin' today anyhow," said Jane. "Yes, she's gone to a hotel, where a gentleman talks a story out loud and she puts it down on paper. She's been three tiimes, buit it's so sad. -The story is a beautiful one, only she doesn't think he'll live to finish it. He came here to get well, because there's sunshine and flowers, but his wife cried on Angel's shoulder in the next room to -his and said he would never, never get well'any more. Angel didn't tell me, ;for I don't think she likes me to know sad things, but I heard her sying it all to a lady she works for sometimes, a lady who knows the poor man. I don't remember his name, but he's what they call a genius." "It's like that out here on the IRiviera," said_Jane, shaking her so gloomily that the ruffled cap wabbled. "Lots of ill reople c..ume, as well as those who wants fun and throwin' their money about. In the midst of loife we are in '"i r death. Drat the biby, I believe 'e's swallowed 'is - tin soldier ! No, 'ere it is on the floor. But, as I was sayin', your ma and mine might be sisters in some wyes. Both of 'em l(st their 'usbins, young"- % "How did your father get lost?" Rosemary broke "'E went to the dogs," replied Jane mysteri ously. . "Oh !" breathed the child, thrilled with a vague horror. She longed intensely to know what had happened to her friend's parent - after joining his lot with that of the dogs, but was too delicate minded to continue,her questioning after such a tragic beginning. She won dered if there were a kind of dreadful dog which made a specialty of eating fathers. "And did he never come back again ?" she ventured to inquire at last. ' "Not 'e. Yon never do, you know, if once you goes to the dogs. There ain't no wye back. I was wonderin' since we've been ac quainted, kiddy, if your pa didn't go the sime road. It 'appens in all clarses." "Oh, no; my father was lost at sea, not on the road, and there aren't any dogs there-at least I don't think so," said Rosemary. "If it's only the sea 'as swallered 'im, 'e may be cast up again any day alive an' bloomin'," replied Jane cheerfully. "My ma 'ad a grite friend; sold winkles. 'Er 'usbin was lost at sea for years and years till, just w'en she was comfortably settled with 'er second, along 'e comes, as large as loife.. Besides, I've- read of such things in the Princess Novelettes, only there it's most gen erally lovers, not 'usbins nor yet. fathers. Would you know yours again if yon.seen-aim' Rosemary 'shook her head doubtfully, and her falling hair of pale, shimmering gold waved like a wheatfield shaken by a breeze. "Angel - + lost him w'hen I was only two," the child ex - plained. "She's never talked- much -to me about him, but we used to live in a big house im -- , London-because my father was English, you know, though Angel's American-and I had a nurse who held me in her lap and told me j' things. I heard her say to one of the servants once that, my father had been lost on a yacht and that he was, oh, ever such a handsome man. But-but she said" Rosemary faltered, her gray blue eyes suddenly large and troubled. "Wiat was it she said ?" prompted Jane, with so much sympathetie interest that the little girl could not refuse to answer. Nevertheleis she felt that it would not be right to finish her sentence. "If you please, I'd rather not tell you what' nurse said," she pleaded. "But, anyway, I'd give everything I've got if my father would get found again. You see, it isn't only not haig proper'Christ mases any more that makes me feel sad; it's because Angel has to work sohald for me, and if I hsaa fthei. I s'pose he'd do tliat." "If 'e didn't he'd deserve to get what for," said7Jaie decidedly. - for 'you everywhere on .Christmas.eve-this 'Christmas sve as ever S"Yes, anid, *hat's nyore," went on her hostess, warmning,to the sub ject, "yoeiid kow'im the hinstant' you clapped 'heyess on hisfmeby i eaven sent hinstinct." "What's 'eaven sent hinstinct ?" demanded Rosemary. "The feelin' you 'ave in. your 'eart for a father wot's planted thei'e by' ovidence," explained Jane. "NTow, do you hunderstand?' Be use if you do I don't know but you?d better be trottin'. Biby's gorn to sleep and seems to be sleepin' light.'. "Yes, I think I understand," Rosemary whispered, jumping up ~ from her footstool. "Goodby. And thank you very much for letting~ me come to see you and the baby." - She tiptoed across the room, her long hair waving and shimmering ./' again, softly openect and shut the door behind her and slowly mounted. the stairs to her own quarters on the fourth floor. HE had a doll and a picture book there, but she had1 I'L> looked at the picture book hundreds of times, and, -- though her doll was a faithful friend, somehow theyj had nothing to say to each other now. Rosemay flitted about like a' will-o'-the-'wisp and finally went to the window, where she stood looking wistfully out. Supposing that yTane were right and her father came back out of} the ocean like the fathers 'of little girls in story books, this might be al very likely place for him to land, because there were such lots of sea,, beautiful, sparkling, blue sea. Of course he couldn't know that AngeIf ndshe were in this town, because it was only about a monthsie they-came. It must be difficult to hear things in ships, and he ight~ go away to look for them somewhere else without ever ending thema here. - Little thrills of excitement running from Rosemary's fingers to hera toes felt like vibrating wir'es. What could she do? Jane had said if he came at_all he was_sure to_come on Christmas eve, according to the (To Be ContinuedI).