The county record. [volume] (Kingstree, S.C.) 1885-1975, September 01, 1904, Image 2
r ? i i ii ???????
jlHoldehhii
C?PJTi?ht 1596. by K*
CHAPTER XXVII.
Continued.
"That fellow Price." continued uncle
Sam, not noticing me. "was specially
trained to uphold and disseminate all
virtuous priifciples as well by example
as precept. In the way of precept, I
should think he has performed his
part, but I never had the misfortune
to hear him in circumstances where I
was not privileged to reply. As for
his example?well, he is hypocrisy,
cowardice, meanness and ingratitude
personified."
I was no match for him in argument,
and besides, if I had been, this was
an inopportune moment in which to
cross him. I chose rather to turn the
conversation by asking my uncle if
he had in any way notified Mr. Price
of bis displeasure.
"What do you think?" asked uncle
Sam in a contemptuous tone, as if he
regarded the question as absurdly unnecessary.
"Had him promptly thrown
out of the Investors' Guide office: am
pressing him by the quickest methods
for repayment of money advanced:
moved Rosenberg to do ditto in respect
of the value of a diamond he was fool
enough to let him have on credit, and
have the reverend gentleman under
surveillance of two of Pinkerton's
smartest detectives, so that should he
attempt to leave the State before he
has given full satisfaction for the
claims upon him he will be instantly
laid by the heels."
"Where is Mr. Price now?" I inquired.
"Staying at a boarding house somewhere
up town. Pinkerton's people
will inform me to-morrow whether he
is likely to square accounts or not. I
am sure I sincerely hope he may be
unable to do so. for in that case I may
perhaps succeed in fixing him here
long enough to spoil him of that cure
of souls your neighbor has offered
him. By-tbe-by. how long can the old
lady keep the job open for Price?"
I confessed my complete ignorance
?f the subject.
I did not join in the laugh with
which uncle Sam preeted his own
thoughts, but rose as if about to leave,
though with no fixed intention. The
unexpected aspect of affairs In New
York had greatly disconcerted me. and
seriously deranged my plans. Uncle
SauKperceived my disquietude and ir
Tesolutiou. and (somewhat unnecessarily.
I thought) inquired the cause of it.
"I shall be very anxious until I have
?een Constance," was the only explanation
I could offer.
"Until you die. you mean." corrected
"uncle Sam. "At present it seems to
you that when you possess your dear
Connie and her dollars there will be
no desire in your nature left unratified.
My dear sir. don't abuse your intelligence
by believing any such nonsense,
and pray don't contradict me,
for I know more about you than you
know about yourself. The only way
to escape anxiety is to avoid knowledge,
for that is the poison of which it is
made. Take a Suffolk agricultural laborer.
who has never been ten miles
from the hovel in which be was born;
he is generally the father of ten children,
and his weekly income is rarely
more than ten shillings, and that he
has to earn with his muscles, is he
anxious? Never a bit! He whistles
and sings, or rather he makes strange
noises which he believes to be such,
which is quite as good: for, as we
have just seen, faith Is a very useful
thing. Contentment is compatible
only with illiteracy and isolation. Now
look on the other side of the picture.
I have a wife not much older than
your young lady, quite as beautiful as
ahe. and the possessor of precisely as
many dollars, while as for myself,
there are not more than seven men in
this great country whose means exceed
mine. But I can't escape anxiety.
On the contrary I have had rather
large doses of it the last few days."
"But you would liav* avoided your
anxieties if "
"If I had not done the things
which have incurred them. Precisely.
But there are matters of which no man
ever estimates the consequence, and
when those matters go smoothly be
.must always refer the gratifying result
to his luck and never to bis judgment."
"I hope you have no objection to my
calling upon my aunt and Miss Marsh
to-morrow?"
"Not the least in the world, and you
can take to your aunt a special message
from me. I have actually accomplished
that which she insisted upon,
and now. according to her own terras,
she is willing to return to me. Tomorrow.
or next day at furthest, I
shall be in a position to offer you the
use of my own house. Meantime, you
can't do better than remain here with
me."
Supper was now announced, and my
uncle accompanied me to the private
room . where it awaited us. but he
would not eat anything, preferring to
smoke another cigar and chat to me
while I partook of some mv.ch-needed
refreshment.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
MISTgESS AND WIFE.
It was past lO"^'clock when I awoke
?
icst tlflallH
^^3Ps4"''
s=- BY *
ALTER BLOOMFIELD
' bcrt BINHXB'R SONS
next morning. The greater part of the
night had been spent in a fruitless endeavor
to compose myself to sleep, and
when, after many weary hours, I at
last lost consciousness of external objects
I had not even then escaped the
sense of oppression, so that when 1
arose in haste, surprised at the lateness
of the hour, it was with none of
those delightful sensations of refreshed
vitality which commonly attend the
awakening of healthful youth. But the
thought that I was this day to see
Constance Marsh acted as a stimulus
to my feeble will, and I dressed myself
with much care, though hastily.
Needless to relate my uncle was up before
me and had already breakfasted.
I found him standing by a window in
the room where he had received me
on the previous day. thoughtfully
twirling a cheque around nis nngers.
An opened letter lay upon the table.
After the usual brief salutations my
uncle bade me to breakfast without
loss of time, a command I was not
slow to obey, as he informed me that
he was in receipt of an unsatisfactory
communication, the nature of which
he would explain on my return.
When I re-entered the room about
fifteen minutes later, my uncle was
standing in the place where I had left
him, bis hands clasped behind, and
staring vacantly at the carriages as
they swiftly passed up the avenue towards
Central Park. I was much
impressed by the evident change which
had been wrought in this extraordinary
man in but a few short weeks.
Two days ago, and I could not have
conceived any circumstances that
would have induced Samuel Truman
to remain quiet and pensive for so
long as a quarter of an hour.
"Ah!" exclaimed uncle Sam, suddenly
turning upon me in his old energetic
way; "read that letter, fcrnesc, ana
tell me what you think of It."
I examined the contents of the envelope
to which my uncle pointed, and
found they consisted of a cheque ou
Drexel's Bank for four thousand
two hundred dollars, drawn by Evan
Price In favor of my uncle, accompanied
by a few polite words from that
gentleman, stating that he forwarded
the said cheque in satisfaction of all
claims, and awaited a receipt for the
same.
"Well," I said, as I replaced the letter
and cheque in their envelope, "I
think you are to be congratulated. Mr.
Price can't do you any further harm,
and you have recovered your money."
"That's true," admitted uncle Sam;
"but I'm balaed of my revenge?for
the present. No matter; all things
come to those who wait if they be
furnished with watchful eyes. Meanwhile
it is pleasant to contemplate the
awful vacuity of that humbug's purse
now that he has disgorged those few
dollars."
"Perhaps he has borrowed the money j
to pay you," I suggested.
"I don't think anyoody would lend
him so much now he has no connection
with the Investors' Guide; but I may
ascertain that later on. I have sent
him a receipt, and the cheque I will
give to you. It is an open cheque,
and when I have endorsed it you can
cash it at Drexel's, in Wall Street,
which is uuite close to my office."
I was about to thank my uncle for
bis generous gift; but he would not
listen to me, and went on to say that
he was in momentary expectation of j
the arrival of Mrs. Truman; that she!
had promised to come to him at the
Windsor Hotel and to return with him
to their house in Thirty-fourth street.
"Connie," he added, as he consulted
his watch, "is at Orange; and if you
start for that place within an hour
aud bring her on at once to New York
you will tind on your return your aunt
and me in our proper places, aud all
things fixed comfortably."
This was delightful information, infinitely
more pleasing to me than the
possession of the cheque which 1 had
just placed in my wallet. Uncle Sam
noticed my satisfaction and remarked
upon it, bidding me never to needlessly
complicate my affairs, for that way
lies Perplexity, handmaid to Madness,
but always to prefer simple courses,
and then small things would uever
lose their power to please. Having
expressed himself thus, he reclined
upon a settee with his feet superposed
on the back of a chair, and lit his first
cigar for that day.
"I suppose I shall experience no difficulty
In finding Belle Vue Cottage
when I arrive at Orange."
"Not the least In the world," said
uncle ?pm; "everybody in Orange
knows it."
"Then I will start at once "
"No, don't go till your aunt comes;
she can't surely be many minutes,"
said uncle Sam, consulting his watch
for the twentieth time in an hour.
"Ah! here she comes," he exclaimed,
as the door slowly opened and my
aunt entered the room.
Yes, it was my aunt who entered; but
not my uncle's wife, the gentle lady
Gertrude. No; it was my mother's '
only surviving sister, the companion
of my childhood, the woman who had
caused the unhappy family division of
which I had so recently learned. It
, was Annie Wolsey.
"Why have you come here?" asked
uncle Sain in a husky voice suddenly
springing to his feet.
Annie Wolsey closed the door as deliberately
as she had opened it, and
leaned her back against it?perhaps
for the support it afforded, for she was
ghastly pale, and seemed unable to
close her colorless lips to give utterance
to her thoughts.
"Why have you come here?" asked
uncle Sam again. "You have received
my letter?"
"Yes, I have received your letter,"
said the agitated woman, after a painful
pause, "and I will not believe its
contents in that form. With those
lips with which you have so often ex
pressed you Interest in me must you
you tell me that you have no wish to
see me again, or I can never believe
| it."
"Annie," said uncle Sam sternly, yet
with a slight tremor in his voice, "what
j I have said to you in my letter is true,
every word, and must be acted upon,
i It is entirely your own fault that it
is so. Had you but followed my simple
advice,' this had never happened.
How many times have I warned you
of the probable outcome of your communications
with your father! The
result is only such as I feared and
foresaw. Now you have regained your
father, and your father has put it out
of my power to be to you what once I
was; but in whatever part of the world
you may choose to live you shall always
be provided with large means."
"0 Sam, surely this is not to be the
end of our friendship? Oh, don't forsake
me; defy the world's opinion in
this as you have defied it In so many
other ways. Consider your great
wealth and the independence it confers;
what censure you cannot afford
to ignore, you can stifle with your
gold. Don't forsake me, Sam."
The speaker's face was flushed now; !
and having found her voice, she spoke
rapidly, but in a plaintive, pleading i
tone that was painful to hear. In the j
tall, graceful woman standing before !
me I could with difficulty recognize the
Suffolk village girl who but a few .
years before had been my almost con- j
stant companion, so cnanged was she. j
But her race ana ngure were none ine j
less familiar to me, though for another
and very different reason. When Annie
Wolsey first entered the room I
had started involuntarily, so great was j
her resemblance to thp'portrait of my ;
mother which hung in the drawing- j
room at Holdenhurst Hall. I would
at once have withdrawn, as having ,
neither the right nor desire to be present
at such a conference, but that
Annie stood against the closed door, I
and my presence embarrassed the dis- j
putacts so little that neither of them !
took the least notice of me.
Annie Volsey's passionate appeal vis- !
lbly disconcerted uncle Sam.
"Annie," said uncle Sam, advancing
towards her and taking her hand in
his, "I don't think my regret is less [
intense than yours, but what I have ;
written I have written, and come what i
may I will adhere to it. Good-bye, '
Annie." j
"Annie Wolsey took the hand which
my uncle extended towards her, and
muttered a brief farewell in a voice
too broken with emotion for me to
make out the words of which it was
composed, turned to leave. As she
did so, my aunt Gertrude entered the
room; and the two stood, scarce a
yard apart, regarding each other in
silence.
Aunt Gertrude was the first to speak, j
Bowing slightly she addressed her in
* * ? ? 1 ? * V. Met.n'nt*
lL'y lUlit'b, UUl wujj auiiiuauic icouuiui.
"I beg your pardon, Miss Wolsey, for
so unceremoniously interrupting your ;
conversation with my husband. Would
you like me to retire until you have !
concluded your business with him?" '
The calmness of the American lashed ;
the despairing Englishwoman into an !
uncontrollable outburst of fury. "No!" j
she screamed; "I would not!" and j
with these words the enraged woman j
drew from her bosom a small packet |
of papers aud cast it contemptuously
upon the table. Then, drawing herself
up to her full ueight, and darting
one last indignant glance at my uncle,
with flushed face and flashing eyes
Annie Wolsey passed out of the open
door and was gone.
Uncle Sam. who bad been a silent
spectator of this scene, made a motion
as though he would follow her, which
aunt Gertrude perceiving, threw her
arms around bis neck and prevented.
My uncle endeavored to put his wife
gently aside, but could not "Follow
her, Ernest, follow her!" he cried;
"don't leave her while she is in this
mood. Quick, or she is lost!"
I hastened down the long staircase
and reached the sidewalk in front of
the hotel just as Miss Wolsey was
stepping into a landau which awaited
her.
"Annie," I exclaimed, "Annie, dear;
wait a moment. I want to speak with
you."
"I have nothing more to say to anyone
who bears your name." said the
companion of my childhood, regarding
me with a stony, immovable expression
as she fastened the door from the
inside. "Drive on!"
And in obedience to her command
the driver lashed his horses, and my
girl-aunt was borne swiftly away. I
watched the carriage on its course
down town until it turned aside towards
Union Square, and then slowly,
anil with a. heavv heart. I re-entered
the hotel anl ascended the stairs.
When I retched my uncle's room I
was met at the door by aunt Gertrude,
looking very pale and agitated. "Ernest."
she asked, "will you please go
below and fetch some stimulant as
quickly as you can? I don't want to
ring for it."
To be continued.
Fame is often a bubble that comes
from puffing and blowing.
yHoldehhu
^ ^ use br Bi
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Continued.
I instantly disappeared, and in two
or three minutes at most had returned
with the required restorative. My
aunt was waiting where I had left her,
and seemed anxious, I thought, that I
should not re-enter the room. "Thank
you," she said; "your uncle is not very
well; but if you go over to Orange at
once ana iercn my sisier, you wiu
find us both at our house when you
return with her. You had better not
tell Connie anything of what you have
seen and heard to-day.
I assured my aunt I would do so; and
having wished her well out of her vexations,
I departed for Orange.
CHAPTER XXIX.
coitroBt).
Such scenic beauty as the United
States of America can boast?and it Is
of wide extent and infinite varietyowes
everything to nature, notliing to
man. American cities, almost without
exception, consist of unpretentious
buildings disposed in square blocks, so
that wherever the gaze of the urban
pedestrian is directed, his eye is met
by montonous right lines of avenues
and streets. The feverish pursuit, the
worship, of the almighty dollar which
animates the majority of t.h? American
people, killing the artistic msflncts inherited
from their progenitors and
leading them to contemn Beauty and
de;fy Utility, has resulted in little or
nothing to make city life tolerable.
Everywhere in the new world the trav
eler is confronted by advertisements
of appalling dimensions and hldeousuess.
Liberal-minded American who
have traveled protest against such
wanton outrages on good taste more
loudly even than the stranger; but
they see no way to its suppression.
Notwithstanding my eager haste to
see and speak with my dear Constance.
I could not refrain from pausing a brief
space to contemplate the delightful
home where tne infancy of my promised
wife and her sister had been passed.
The cottage, constructed of wood,
was of low elevation, but covered much
ground; it was designed with fantastic
irregularity; windows and doors of
strange pattern and diverse size appearing
at the most unexpected angles.
The cottage was sheltered at the back
by a wide semicircle of large, closely
planted trees, whose foliage had now
assumed the beautiful golden tint of
autumn, while along its front ran a
commodious piazza, shaded with white
canvas, from which one might step on
to the sun-scorched lawn, or view the
fine prospect between it and the foot
of Orange Mountain. In this situation
it is difficult to realize that the
great city of New York lies so nearly
as thirteen miles eastward; but so it
is. However, I did not give much consideration
to that circumstance, but
having admiringly regarded that part
of the neighborhood within my view,
I entered the grounds of Belle Vue
Cottage. The heaviness of spirit,
born of my painful experience that
morning, had quite pased away, and
I was elated by the prospect of presently
accompanying one to gain whom I
had suffered so much. My presence
being challenged at no point by either
closed gate, servant, or dog, I approached
the steps which led up to
the piazza; and there, to my intense
delight, I discovered my loved one reclining
in a hammock of netted silken
cords. As usual with her, she was
dressed very plainly, entirely in white,
which greatly enhanced her natural
gracefulness of figure and feature as
she lay, all unconscious of my admiring
gaze, her delicate cheek resting
upon one hand, while with the other
she grasped the book that absorbed
her attention.
"Connie!"
The startled fair cne dropped her
book and looked at me with an expression
of joyous surprise.
"So you have come at last, dear!"
she exclaimed, as I assisted her to
descend from the hammock, for which
service, before it was half rendered,
I paid myself with a kiss. "Why,
what a long time you have been away*I
T hnnrcn tn fnar T ohmil/i nauop qpp nr
- -v.v. -vV
hear from you again!"
"That could hardly be and I were
alive, my own little pet; but you will
remember it was agreed between us
that I was not to write or telegraph
unless my mission to England succeeded.
I am sorry to tell you it has
failed utterly, and my fortunes, whatever
they may prove to be, are to make.
Never again will I reject the advice of
my own Connie."
"Not until the next time, you mean;
or until you weary of me," amended
Constance, pouting.
"Ch my darling, that can never be!"
"Make no rash assertions, my dear
Ernie, and so perhaps escape broken
vows. My sister, worthier far than 1
?but have you seen poor dear Gertie?
How did you know where to find me?"
"I left aunt and uncle at Windsor
Hotel not more than an hour ago.
They are good friends now, I am
happy to say, and I have this very
morning had positive proof that the
cause of their estrangement is now
fully removed. At their request I have j
com* to fetch you to New Sork, and ;
7> rrl-ii i
CSt; iiHaflj
gl^
==- 1 BY
\LTER BLOOMFIELO
>B?BT BOXNKB'8 SOH8.
before we can reach the city they will
be once more in their own home, if
indeed they are not already there,
awaiting us." .
"Thank Heaven for that! My most
ardent wish is accomplished. There,"
continued my young lady, reading the
faintest possible reproach in my eyes,
"don't look at me like that. 1 welcome
you 'with my whole heart, and will
commit my life and all taut is mine
in your keeping, as I promised you
I would; but oh, Ernie, I can never
think so well of men, or of women
either, as once I did."
"Dear Connie, that is only another
way of saying that your experience
is wider thau it was?the reason why
old people are so skeptical. But bad
as the world Is, there are always a
faithful few; and I hope you will believe
me one of them until you find
that I am not."
Here my innocent, artless lover threw
her arms around ray neck. "I will believe
you, my own dear Ernie," she
cried, "though to do so were to hazard
all. You bring good news, greatly
more welcome to me than the discovery
of any number of treasure chests."
"I am as rejoiced to bring the good
news as you are to receive it; but at
the same time I confess I am much
disappointed t in the other matter.
There are now only two things which
prevent my perfect happiness?but in
the heaven of your companionship I
shall forget them both. I would have
liked my fortune to have been something
greater than .1 can carry in my
pocket, and I regret my estrangement
from my father."
"The lirst is not worth thinking of.
There are not rcony New York girls
with more dollars than my father left
to me. We shall not want for anything.
The second can be removed.
I have never seen your father; hut If I
were to go to him after we are aarried
and ask him if be would like to
tee my fiualand. all his love for his
son would return?that is to say. If It
has ever loft him, which I much
doubt.''
"Connie, you me a jewel. Was ever
man so happy as I?"
"Many a one, and gone ont cf bis
vaj to tenia mate his happiness. I
have just i?e? n reading?uo, I will not
tell you what it is I have been reading."
'I'leasc let me see the book for a
moment" T pleaded.
'Not for the world!" exclaimed ny
wilful charmer, breaking from my
embrace. And hastily picking up the
volume from the door, where a few
' *-- *--* u-j AltA?.fA^ ft
moments ueiure sue uau ouuncu n i?
fall, with a merry laugh Connie
tripped lightly from the room.
I could not pursue her, for being unacquainted
with the geography of the
house, I knew not into what trespass
I might be tempted.
Not many minutes elapsed before
Miss Marsh reappeared with her maid,
both dressed for walking, Connie's
pretty face, almost hidden beneath a
wide-brimmed straw hat, appearing
like a beautiful miniature in a large
frame.
"Now, Ernest, dear, I au ready to
accompany you."
I drew close to Connie and spoke
softly to her.
"Valerie," said Miss Marsh, turning
to her maid, "this gentleman has been
so rude as to say that he would prefer
to be without your company. You
will please start for New York in about
an hour."
The French girl smiled and gracefully
disappeared, murmuring something
which sounded like "RIen u'est beau
que le vrai."
The journey from Orange to New
York I still remember as one of my
most delightful experiences, surpass
lDg CYCD IUUI #!* lujt uuv,ic o juvuv
when Constance tirst promised to be
mine. I could not fail to remember
that upon that, to me, happy occasion,
my dear one was distressed by an affair
the termination of which now rejoiced
her. Indeed, I now began to
doubt if there could be found within
the borders of the American Union
any lighter-hearted lovers than we two;
and I congratulated myself on my
prospect of a charming wife, the fortunate
possessor of every esteemed attribute
of that character.
/~1? mo nnoln'o hnnso we
vju i travmue uij uuv.w ? ??.
were welcomed by aunt Gertrude, in
whom, notwithstanding her more than
usual reserve, I thought I could detect
a sense of satisfaction, not to say
of suppressed jubilancy. Uncle Sam
not being present, I inquired where he
was.
"On the roof enjoying a cigar," replied
aunt Gertrude; "he wishes you
to go up to biiii as soon us you conveniently
can."
"Go now, Ernie, dear," whispered
Constance; "I would like to talk to
Gertie for an hour;" and the next minute
I was standing before uncle Sam
breathless from the haste with which
1 had mounted the stairs.
"So Annie would not listen to you?"
were my uncle's first words.
"No;' but how did you know that?"
I asked, astonished.
"I saw from the window how she
received you. But she spoke, I think.
What was It she said?"
"That she wanted nothing to d#
with anybody of our name."
"Ah, poor girl! I am sorry for her.
Do you know Ernest. I have a haunting
fear that she will carry out the horrible
threat of hers?"
"What! destroy her life? Ob, unci*#
I hope not."
"And I am sure I do; but it is bard
to say. Women are such uncertain
creatures, so much swayed by impulse.
so little by reason, that men who have
had most to do with them sometime*
understand them least. By-the-bye,
how wonderfully like she is to your
mother, and how nearly you resemble
them both!"
"I am not sure I feel battered by that
speech," I ventured to observe.
"Truth is never flattery," said uncle
Sam. "However, I have done my part
and can do no more. If matters work
out well, why, well; if in, why then
they must be borne. The real author*-"
of this mischief are old Wolsey and
your father, who years ago treated me
villainously in respect of my engage- <
ment to your mother. Their breach
of faith has, I am happy to think, at
last recoiled on them both. Of course
everybody admits that two wrongs
dou't make a right; but revenge retains
its primitive sweetness despite
that admissicu. At the same time I
shouldn't have gone out of my way to
taste of it, but chance set it in my
path. When I consider how good &
wife 1 have, how largely her fortunes
have aided mine, and how great is her
love and care for me, I frankly confess
tiiat I regret the whole incident,
and am inclined to regard vindictiveuess
as a species of folly to be guarded
against."
"I am glad to hear you say that,
uncle. It augurs well for a cherished
nope of mine."
Uncle Sam, affecting not to perceive
my allusion, went on:
"You have been a lucky boy. Ernest,
and I congratulate you on your good
fortune. Without money, experience,
or talent, you have won for yourself
a charming young lady, whose dollars,
beauty, and training make her a match '
? ?1-i.i. IT7W.
that au kngiisn ause uugui eu*j. nuj
It is that she lias so lightly agreed to
hand over to you the command of herself
and her large fortune passes my
understanding; for you will pardon
my telling you plainly that I fail to
discover in you any remarkable ability.
On the contrary, you impress me as a
man of feeble judgment and Irresolute
will. Your recent mission to England
was conducted with a.lamentable want
of skill; and again, to-day, a man of
average tact would have refrained
from speaking to Miss Wolsey in the
very heat of her passion: he would have
followed her and exerted his persuasiveness
later. Don't look so downcast;
if I didn't greatly esteem you do you
suppose I would trouble myself to
point out your weak places?"
"I8d't your rebuke heavier than my
shortcomings deserve?" I inquired
timidly.
"Not a bit! Digest it well, and yea
will derive inestimable benefit from
It; it may Induce you to cultivate caution.
a quality which at present you
greatly need, and will need yet more
when your lucky stars have endowed
you with the control of Connie's dollars;
for you must know that to hold
money is second in difficulty only to
the acquisition of it: nay. to some natures
its retention is the more difficult
feat. I would earnestly advise you
not to speculate with any portion of
Connie's fortune, but to be content
with its present disposition, chosen for
the most part by her father-^as clearheaded
a man as ever owned a railroad.
With its present investments,
all made with a view to security rather
than high rate of interest, you can
| draw dividends enormously in excess
of your utmost requirements. As
neither of you nor your fathers before
you have ever had any money to.
speak of, there is some danger that in
your new and luxurious circumstances
you may lose your head; and it is that
j contingency I would warn you against.
I whv don't vou lieht a cigar?"
1 This speech removed somewhat of
I the depressing effect produced by the
destructive criticism which preceded
it, and under the soothing influence o*;
the weed I soon recovered my equ^fQ
imity.
"Your disposition," continued uncle
Sam, "unless I entirely misread it, is
affectionate and domestic; and witta
so charming a wife as yours will prove,
you ought easily to avoid such folly
as mine. If you don't, you will lack
even such excuse as I can make, and
that I don't find many people accept
as satisfactory. Besides, you must
never forget that Connie is a clever,
observant girl. When I say clever, I
don't mean you to infer that she knows
anything about Greek quantities, or
fhat she has projected any new theory
for the sewing on of shirt buttons
or the reconstitution of society, but her""
discernment Is such that it would not
be easy for a man of your parts to play
ber false, while it would be eminently
unprofitable for you to be foiled In
the attempt."
"Nothing is further from my thoughts
than sucn Daseness. 1 pruiesieu ?mmly.
"I don't In the least doubt it; but for (
your own sake as well as for Connie's,
watch that you may not lapse from
your present right thinking. Have you
arranged when the event is to come
off. and do you intend to acquaint
your father with the important step
you are about to take?"
"I shall ask Connie to-morrow, or
this evening if I get the chance, to
name the day when she will make me
the happiest man in the world; and at
the same time I shall acquaint her
with my impatience of delay. I shall
not inform my father. Connie has
promised to negotiate with him after
we are married."
, , To be QOQtlnued.
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