The county record. [volume] (Kingstree, S.C.) 1885-1975, September 08, 1904, Image 2
^Holdehhii
Copjrlfht 1M bra
CHAPTER XXIX.
Continued.
"Ha! and bow are you off for
money? Got none, I suppose."
"Ob, not quite so bad is tbat! I hare
the four thousand two hundred dollars
you gave me this morning Intact,
and the greater part of the thousand
dollars which you gave me Just b? fore
I went to England."
"You are no spendthrift, I am glad
to tind; but the sums you mention are
qiute useless to a man to take a. wife,
v.-ir Although In vour ease the wife
w>.!i be wealthy, there will be many
things which must, if only for decency's
sake, be paid for by you and
by no other. Of course you win want
to travel for two or three months before
you make your final plans for
tenement, and during that time you
v!tl appear to better advantage if you
reti-ain from drawing upon your wife's
estate, so I will place a sum of money
to your credit at Drexel's, and provide
you with a cheque-book. You may regard
it as a loan and return it to me
later, if you will: or you may accept
is as a gift?just which you prefer."
With these words my uncle rose
from his seat and cast away the end
of his cigar, paying not the least attention
to the thanks with which I
greeted his extraordinary offer. "I
must really smoke less tobacco." he
said; "that makes my eighth cigar today,
and it is not three o'clock. I have
smoked more this week than I generally
smoke in a month?i Ruppose because
of the worry I*ve been subject
to. By the Powers. I wish I knew
that that girl was safe!"
As my uncle turned to accompany
me downstairs I noticed that the expression
of his face betrayed consid
erable anxiety, and tnat nis general
demeanor lacked much of Its accustomed
buoyancy.
CHAPTER XXX.
TJXCLK 8A.X DOTS.
About three weeks after the events related
In the last chapter I sat writing
in a beautiful room which nfy uncle
had ordered to be specially arranged
and set apart for my use for so long
as I remained bis guest, when Constance
unexpectedly entered and. smilingly
handed me a letter. Having accepted
the missive and paid its fair carrier
with that which among lovers is
accounted coin. I moved from the table
to a settee near the window; for no
one could have too much light who at- j
tempted to decipher the caligrapliy of
the Rev. Mr. Price, which consisted of!
a series of hastily scrawled symbols i
without the remotest resemblance to
any known letter?in brief, that kind j
of writing which breeds errors, blinds I
compositors, maddens proof-readers,
and moves the irritable to profanity. I
It took me at the least ten minutes i
to acquaint myself with the writer's j
meaning, and while 1 was so engaged |
my faithful Connie sat on the floor at j
my feet and toyed with three sequins
which had recently been attached to
my watchchain?the identical coins alleged
to have been found in the room
which my uncle occupied the lafet time
he stayed at Holden hurst Hall.
"Can you make it all out?" asked |
Connie, looking up.
"All but a few words, dear." I answered;
and then proceeded to read the
following letter aloud:
N. ?, East Fifty-ninth Street.
New York City, October 27, 18?.
Dear Miss Marsh:?This day, the
* l. M r* T
*ve 01 my aepanure ior jdu^iquu. x
have received from the worthy rector
of Holdenhurst Major, the Rev. Mr.
8ilas Fuller, my esteemed friend and
former colleague. Intelligence of a
grave nature that my Christian conscience
will not pertnit me to conceal
from you. though in acquainting you
herewith I Incur a risk of being credited
with low and personal motives.
The Rev. Mr. Fuller informs me that
on the ult., an old man. who had
been for many years in the service of
Mr. Robert Truman, died very suddenly,
from some unexplained cause,
during an altercation with Mr. Ernest
Truman. The altercation, which was
in part overheard by another servant,
is supposed to have related to money.
Circumstances attending the burial of
the old butler are no less suspicious
that the manner of his death. Interment
having taken place by virtue of
a certificate given by the local doctor,
a personal friend of the Trumans. A
few of the more intelligent among the
inhabitants of Holdenburst are asking
(not unreasonably. I think > why
an inquest was not held, and are hazarding
various guesses as to what circumstances
the Truman family desired
to conceal in avoiding so rightful a
course.
Though to my lasting regret there
may never be any love between us. I
trust tha\ my respect for your honor
and happiness is undiminished: and I
earnestly hope you may see At to assure
yourself, ere it be too late, of the
character of the man you have engaged
to marry, as I am unable to
contemplate without the most painful
. feelings your alliance with a man upon
whom rests the suspicion of manslaughter
or worse. Believe me. dear
Miss Marsh, always your faithful
friend, EVAN PRICE.
tiis -
irstHallh
Nootl.
i*r
ALTER BLOOM FIELD
?'
bkbt Boxxkb's Sour.
"What a mean, spiteful fellow Mr.
Price is, to be sure!" exclaimed Constance.
"I never liked the expression
of that man's face, nor his manner, but
I am surprised he should -write such
a letter as that. What good can he
hope to get from it?"
"Don't you see, dear, how much he
would like to separate us? I have already
told you the facts upon which
he has based this letter.".
"Yes, Ernest, and please don't tell
me again. I'm afraid I'm a little tired
of speaking and thinking about these
things"?alluding to the sequins which
she was turning round and round with'
her delicate white fingers. "But suppose
Mr. Price could separate us, how
would that benefit him? He knows I
would not marry him in any case. I
have told him so in plain words many
a time."
"Spiteful and mischievous as the man
Is, I don't in the least doubt, my dear
Connie, but that he loves you as sincerely
as his nature allows him to
love. Indeed, it is difficult to conceive
of any man not loving you who has
once seen you, and it is the quality of
never to entirely despair of achieving
its object until that object is irrevocably
lost. This letter was written yesterday,
so by now Mr. Price Is on his
way to England. Before he reaches
Liverpool you will be my wife, and
when he learns that fact perhaps he
will cease to interest himself in our
affairs. Only six days! Fancy that, j
pet!" i
i "Yes, fancy it! How sudden it has |
j all been! I am in disgrace with my 1
Irrienas ior aeseruiig lucui, auu >u v.^fendlng
myself I have laid the blame
. on you for monopolizing my time. I
say, Ernie, dear, one of the six girls
I whom I have asked to be bridesmaid
has declined."
"Who Is she?" I inquired.
"Miss Christlson?you know who 11
mean; the young lady who can't marry j
I without losing her fortune."
j "O yes: I remember her. Who will,
take her place?"
"Inez Juarrez."
"You must forgive Miss Christlson !
on account of her absurd and cruel
circumstances."
"Of course, dear, but "
At that moment our conversation was
interrupted by the loud and continuous
ringing of electric bells within the
| house, and the hasty running of serI
vants up and down the stairs. Con|
stance and I started to our feet and
' listened for a moment, and the coni
fusion continuing we left the room
I to ascertain its cause. Outside the
j door, upon the landing, we met my
j aunt Gertrude, who was descending !
I the stairs dressed for going out, and
! I no sooner saw her face, veiled though
it was. than I perceived that she was}
painfully agitated.
"Wnat Is tne matter/" we t>orn asaeu,
| an with one voice. j
j "Oh, Connie, dear, don't stop me! A j
j clerk at Mills Building has just tele-1
phoned to say that Sam has been seized
with sudden illness, and I am not to
lose a moment In going to him. I
fear he is dead, though they say he is
not."
I "Dead! Impossible! An hour ago
he was here and well!"
But aunt Gertrude could not hear the
exclamations either of her sister or me,
t for she had scarcely paused in her descent
while imparting this terrible inj
formation. A world of confused and
painful thoughts filled my mind, and a
strange pallor overspread the face of
the dear one at my side; the color faded
from her lips, and but for my timely
support she would have fallen. The
next moment the streer door was heard
to close, and the carriage containing
aunt Gertrude was driven rapidly
away.
Leading Constance back into the j
room, we both sat down upon a couch i
and regarded each other in silence. 11
consulted my watch; the hour wanted
twenty minutes to midday. Uncle Sam j
had left home to go to his office at 10
o'clock, he being: then in sound health
and high spirits. Constance was the
first to speak. "I can't believe, Ernie,
dear." she said, "that anything very
serious can be the matter, though
Gertrude seems so frightened. How
could there be?" But the unconcealed
agitation of the fair speaker belied her
words, and I was in no condition to
support them by argument "Let us
go into Sam's study and inquire by
the telephone how he is now," 3he
presently added.
"Yes, certainly; that is a good
thought. But doesn't uncle keep his
study locked?"
"Yes; but Gertie also has a key of it,
and I don't suppose she stayed to lock
it in her haste."
The suggestion was no sooner made
than adopted, and the study door being
open, as Connie had surmised, she entered
and at once made her inquiry.
I can never forget her appearance as
she stood with the tube applied to her
ear. her youthful beauty showing
grandly despite the pallor Induced by
her anxiety, while 1 watched with
deadly interest the varying expressions
of ber face as a clerk at the Mills
Building informed her of uncle Sam's
condition. Presently Connie restored j
the tube to its place, and throwing her j
arms around my neck, burst Into tears (
In the manner of one whose fortitude
fails at unexpected release from soffie
supreme dread.
"What has happenedV I asked,
catching my braath.
"Sam learned on arrival at his office
that Miss Wolsey had died suddenly
in Paris, and the news so upset him
that he talked incoherently for a time,
and then had some scrt of seizure,
greatly frightening his clerks; but h?
is conscious now and Gertie is with
him."
There are few tasks which the complex
relations of humankind impose
upon us more painful or difficult than
l>eing called to comfort a sorrowful
one whose burden presses with equal
i or greater weight upon ourselves, and
I could scarce restrain my own grief
while endeavoring to pacify Constance,
whose agitation arose entirely from the
present circumstances of uncle Sam
and aunt Gertrude ? circumstances
which, though I was by no raeaus in- |
different to them, were in my case obscured
by consideration of the tragedy
?? T"? \faneh hoH n?rpr I
IU railOi WUOiauvc muu ov . ,
seen Annie Wolsey, nor was It until
quite recent days that she had been informed
of the existence of that un- j
happy woman; and not only that, but
for other and stronger reasons It would
have been absurd to expect that Constance
should regard the death otherwise
than as the welcome extinction of
an unseen but potent power for mischief.
While recognizing this to the
full, I could not but think of the girlcompanion
of my childhood; of how
after Annie's brothers and sisters had
one by one all been laid to rest in
the shadow of Holdenhurst church she
alone remained, and was the only delight
of her widowed father's life;
of how, later, she had fled from him
who loved her so well, and how tirelessly
he had sought her again until
at last his efforts were crowned with
success, though only to precipitate the
needless and awful waste of her young
life. I thought aiso of the cruel effect
this disaster must necessarily have
upon my grandfather, and wondered
! if that careworn old man was yet ac1
quainted with it. The fear to which
i my uncle had several time6 given expression
now being realized, it occurred
to me that its ill effects upon my pow1erful
friend, said to be already severe,
might possibly be of a permanent character.
Something of these troublesome
thoughts and speculations must have
1 ? u mw foitn haro in
oteii appuieul iu iuj ? ?... ?
duced Connie to smile at me through
her tears, and to repeat those vows
with which we had consoled each other
in previous difficulties?that come what
might, and we were both alive, nothing
should again separate us.
Constance and I quitted the study
and returned to my room. When asked
to deciphet Mr. Price's letter I was engaged
in making a fair copy of a list
of my future wife's possessions, which '
uncle Sam had roughly drawn up for ,
my use?a heavy task, to which I had
already devoted two whole days.
Though not more than three-fourths of I
my transcript was completed I per- I
cetved I was too disturbed to advantageously
apply myself to it again that
day. and therefore hastily put away
my papers and devoted myself to Constance.
After nearly an hour had
been spent in a profitless exchange of
opinions and the venturing of various
surmises, we decided to go together
to Mills Building and ascertain by
actual observation- exactly upon what
our anxiety was founded.
When we arrived at Mills Building
we found ray uncle's offices deserted
by all but one clerk, and the usual
business of the place suspended for the
rest ofihe day. Telegraphic tape was
automatically unwinding from a score
or more cylinders, and falling unread
into the baskets placed to receive it. j
On my uncle's desk, in an inner private
room, lay a pile of correspondence,
the greater part unopened. The clerk I
in charge was brushing his hat preparatory
to locking the doors an de-'
parting, and had we been a few minutes
later we should have found the
office closed. From this individual we
learned that Mr. Truman had become
violently agitated immediately after
reading a letter, the envelope of which
bore the Paris postmark; that be had
rapidly paced up and down his room,
incoherently talking to himself meanwhile;
and that altogether his behavior
had been so extremely different
from his usual habit of self-postessian
that the people about him became
alarmed. Mr. Truman's secretary, Mr.
Fisk, who enjoyed his employer's confidence
more than anybody else, took
the letter from Mr. Truman's unresisting
bands, and read it to ascertain
what had created this disturbance. 1
The letter, which was very brief and
couched in affectionate terms, stated j
that the writer would that night seek
oblivion in the waters of the Seine, and (
that she commended her son to his >
care. It bore the signature of Annie
TVolsey. i
"And how is Mr. Truman now?" I
inquired. "Is he better, and has he
gone home with Mrs. Truman:
"I think he is better than he was,"
replied the clerk. "We were afraid he
had become crazy and sent for Dr.
Herrmann. Dr. Herrmann, who arrived
before Mrs. Truman, said that
Mr. Truman was suffering from intense
excitement, but that with proper treatment
there was no cause for alarm.
The doctor soon afterwards took his
patient to Astor House, where he now
la."
To be continued.
TheWater Power of France.
The water power now running to
waste in the rivers of France is calculated
by a French engineer named
Tavernier to be between 3,000,000
horse power and 5.000,000 horse power,
and only 200.000 horse power of this
enormous total has yet been utilized.
|lHoldehhii
" ' Copyrlcht 1806. br R?
CHAPTER XXX.
Continued.
Thither Constance and I at once repaired
without waiting to hear anything
more the clerk had to tell. There
in a private room we found uncle Sam.
attended by his wife and Dr. Herrmann.
The two latter were making
preparations to take (heir patient to
( his home, for which purpose a carriage
waited at the door. My uncle, who
was lying on a couch, appeared very
depressed, and the expression of his
eyes struck me as peculiar?quite unlike
anything I had observed betorfc
He took not the least notice of Connie
or me, but turned his face to the
wall soon after we entered the room,
and pressed his hand to his forehead as
if in pain. I seized the opportunity
I while Connie was quietly conferring
[ with her sister to ask Dr. Herrmann
what he thought of the case.
"Mr. Truman has always overworked
I himself," said the doctcr. "and there is
some danger cf brain trouble consequent
on the bad news be has received:
but it may very likely be avoided with
care and quietude. lie is a man of
immense vitality."
At the moment of our arrival at the
hotel preparations were in progress for
getting ray uncle back to his own
house. This was not easy to do. as he
could not be got even for one moment
to sneak or think of anything but the
'VTs from Paris, and he seemed to resent
the presence of anybody except
bis wife, though he did not so express
himself. However, Dr. Hermann and
I with some difficulty succeeded in inducing
him to enter the carriage and
be started for East Thirty-fourth
Street, accompanied by his wife and
doctor, Constance and I returning by
another way.
As soon as uncle Sam arrived home
be -was put to bed in a darkened room
and ice was applied to bis bead, the
patient submitting to these unpleasant
preparations without making the least
protest?an additional proof. If any
were needed, of how completely his
mind was absorbed in painful contemplation
of the tragedy which he had
so much feared.
After Dr. Herrmann had departed
aunt Gertrude took me aside. "I fear
your uncle is down fcr a serious illness,"
she said. "I am tcld ha must
be kept vA-y quiet, and to ensure that
I will nurse him myself. But he
wearies me and distresses himself by
begging without cessation that I will
go to Paris and take charge of?of that
English womau's son. and bring him
here. I would not hesitate to do so
if my husband were well; but I dare
not. I will not, leave him in Lis present
state. Will you help me?"
"This appeal, the purport of which I
could not misinterpret, alarmed me
greatly. "I would gladly go to any
part of the world on your business."
I answered quickly, "if only it lay :n
my power to do so; and, apart from
my love for Constance, I can tbink of
nothing more gratifying than doing
anything to oblige you or nncle Sam,
but I have sworn an oath that I will
never agaih leave your sister until she
is my wife, and she is pledged to uc in
equal terms."
Aunt Gertrude smiled faintly. "I
have already telegraphed to tnree or
our friends In Paris." she said, "urging
them to discover and protect the
child at any cosf, and to let us know as
soon as (possible that this has been
done; but I have not yet received any
replies."
"You have not allowed sufficient time. J
It is barely two hours since you were {
summoned to Mills Building."
"I have already asured your uncle
that if the child can be found I will
adopt it as my own, and that assurance
has rallied him more than anything
else that nas been said or done.
If only I could show him a telegram,
proving that the child is now in good
bands, I think be would soon be himself
again."
"I believe you will receive such a
telegram some time to-day."
"We will hope so." said aunt Gertrude
quietly. And having uttered
these words she returned to her husband's
room, and I sought Constance.
CHAPTER XXXI.
AT NEWPORT.
Uncle Sam rapidly became worse after
he returned home, and soon his con- i
dltion excited the utmost alarm. Two
renowned physicians exerted their ]
skill for the bene3t of the patient, who <
was never left without the attendance i
of one or other of them. He was said 1
to oe sunenug irom pnrcuuii- lucuiLgitis,
induced by too prolonged tension i
of the faculties?ar inflated way of describing
the simple fact that bis mind
had temporarily succumbed under the j i
anxiety and grief to which it had been j <
subjected. j 1
For many weeks aunt Gertrude: <
nursed her husband with untiring de- "
vction. and in her anxiety that nothing !
should be neglected or ill done she did :
much work that might well have been
left to other hands. My marriage with i
Constance was indefinitely postponed.' 1
and no thought given to any matter I
but the present condition of the patient, j \
for whom even his physicians acknowl- i
edged they feared the worst . j i
irst |
- j - -- pj
I
: irT
ALTER BLOOMFIELD
h?bt B jxiieb'd Sobs
Mrs. Fisk, wife of my uncle's confidential
secretary, was induced by aunt
Gertrude to undertake a journey to
Paris for the purpose ef bringing to
New York young boy whose welfare
seemed more than all else to engage
my uncle's lucid moments. Mean
while telegrams arrived assuring us
that the child was well and in good
hands, which assurances were duly
' conveyed to the patient, on whom they
I appeared to have a beneficial effect.
I Week after week passed away, and
still the patient ^hovered iincertRjnly
between life and* death, Mrs. Fisk
safely returned to New York with her
Infant charge, a haudsome. bright-eyed,
, intelligent boy of exceeding vivacity,
happily ignorant of his mother's fate
and his father's danger. The little
stranger, instead of being regarded as
an unwelcome addition to my uncle's
family, as might not unreasonably
have been expected, was received by
aunt Gertrude with the tenderest consideration,
and everything needful for
his well-being was provided. By sundry
apparently trivial but really profoundly
significant words and acts
aunt Gertrude soon showed that the
newcomer had found a place no less in
her heart than in her house. Though
my uncle was informed of the arrival
of the boy the doctors for the present
forbade the child being presented to
their patient. The nature of my uncle's
business was such that it necessarily
came to a standstill as soon as
his direction of it ceased?a direction
which hitherto he had never failed to
exercise, personally when in New York
City, and telegraphically when absent
therefrom. Mr. Fisk was regular in
his attendance every morning at my
uncle's house, and never failed to report
the patient's condition to a host of
his inquiring friends.
And thus November and the greater
part of December passed away, the
spirits of the little household In East
Thirty-fourth street being raised one
day only to be dashed the next, according
to the changeable condition of the
patient, whose malady once or twice
touched a point of extreme danger. But
at the near approach of Christmas,
when New York City lay covered with
a thick mantle of snow and the sky
was none the less clear because the
temperature was extremely cold and
Icicles of prodigious length depended
from parapet and casement, the patieut
took a very decided turn for the
better. He talked less and more rationally,
and was generally calmer,
and he slept better and partook cf
more nourishment
Though my uncle's medical advisers
were not. at the first appearance of
these signs, assured they portended a
favorable issue, they did not hesitate
to recognize in the gocd symptoms, after
they had endured for some days unabated.
the beginning of complete recovery.
And so, Indeed, It appeared. By the
"'J ~ Tnniiorr nn/>1p SfltTl hfid SO
UilUUlC U1 UUUUUl J
far recovered that he was permitted to
sit by the fire in his room, and there
one day he dispassionately discussed
with me the tragedy which to quote
his own words, had "thrown him off
his balance." His wife's loving care
of the boy familiarly known as "the
cardinal" occasioned him much satlsr
faction, which he gratefully acknowledged
in various way. and It is to that
circumstance I have always attributed,
more than to all else besides, his complete
recovery. At^thls juncture "the
cardinal" was taken every morning -by
aunt Gertrude into the patient's room,
where he was permitted to frisk about
like a spaniel at his father's feet, and
his gambols and his pertinent replies
to questions which he could not possibly
understand amused and delighted
everybody present.
In the early stages of the patient's
convalescence it was customary for(
Connie and me to read to him In turn.
The reading was always selected by
uncle Sam, and consisted for tLe most
part of the daily papers and current
fiction. One day I ventured to inquire
if he would care to listen to some literature
of a higher standard?a choice
work by one of the great poets, for instance.
"No, no," said uncle Sam, "not fori
the world. I like poetry too weu."
I confessed my inability to understand
tt c reply.
"Poets," remarked uncle Sam, "are a
pitiable handful of creatures. Their
divine gifts are compensated by powerlejsness
to cope with the manifold
:reacheries of mankind, and consequent
starvation and misery, and though by
some strange accident one of the tribe
not long ago slipped into the House of
Lords, that was a blunder which will
not be repeated; the majority gravitate
quite naturally to the workhouse. I
love poetry, but can never read it without
my heart aching for me poor
wretch who expended his brain power
In profltlessly weaving it No, no. Ernest:
cpen the Trumpeter and tell me
whether,the Rothschilds have succeeded
in floating that loan for the Austrian
Government."
Slowly but surely the patient retrained
strength, but February was almost
spent before the doctors would
sanction his removal to Newport Not
antfl after he was able to go about tho
house unaided did the permanent
changes wrought in him by the illne9
through which he bad passed become
fOHy apparent, and then it was seen
that his once light browu hair had be*
come almost entirely grey, that there
were lines in his face which had'net
been observed before his illness, and
that his step was a trifle slower and
less elastic than of old. I thought bll
cheerfulness and his frank cynicism
had escaped unaffected until he surprised
me one morning by informing
his friend. Mr. Rosenberg. In my presence.
that it was his intention as soon
as he returned from Newport to close
Ills speculative business affairs, and devote
his remaining days to safeguarding
such dollars as be had already acquired.
leaving the pursuit of wealth to
younger or more ardent spirits.
By the opening of March uncle Sam's
family?in which, of course. I include
myself, for long before this time I was
regarded by everybody as belonging
thereto? were comfortably settled in
his villa at Newport, .Rhode Island,
where it was thought the ocean breeaes.
and continued withdrawal from business
ceres might restore him to his former
condition of a:enta! and physical
vigor. ^
Chatham Villa is one of the numerous
artistic summer houses which
abound iu the southern portiou cf
Rhode Island, and stands in extensive,
pleasure grounds overlooking Narragaasett
Bay. As yet the weather was
very cold for living in snch an open situation.
but the sky was almost always
clear and bright, and scarcely a day
of the seven weeks that we remained
on the island passed without Constance
and me. thickly clad with tors,
taking an invigorating walk, in wnich
exercises we were sometimes accompanied
by uncle and aunt, the former
of whom wonld point out where the
8000 British troops and their Hessian
mercenaries were quartered during the
American Revolution, and the wastes
where once flourished the fine groves
which they cut down for fuel; and he
would sometimes further describe how
my countrymen had destroyed nearly
500 of the bouses and all the shipping
then harbored there.
Although, all things considered, I
must always look back upon my first
sojourn at Newport with mnch gratification?indeed
it could hardly be othr ^
erwise, for I enjoyed the almost uninterrupted
company of Constance while
I was there?I was rejoiced as the pe;
rlod fixed for our stay drew towards its
close, and that for the best of all possible
reasons.
Before leaving New York it had been
arranged that Constance and I were te
be married at a Presbyterian charch
on Fifth avenue the first day of May.
and we were to return to the City one
week prior to that event. In accordance
with the wish of everybody con-/
cerned. the ceremony was to be of the
I simplest possible character, and an
hour after Its accomplishment we were V
to leave for Saratoga, where a suite of
rooms had been engaged for me at the
Grand Union Hotel.
Preoccupied as I was with the anticipation
of my approaching happiness, I
could never forget my father, and in f
ray more reflective moments was disturbed
at hearing no news of him.
either direc^y or indirectly, but I could j
not think ot any better way of amend- "r
Ing the unfortunate rupture between
us than that which Constance had proposed?a
plan not yet practicable, increasing
my already great impatience
with the slow-moving hours.
The eve of our return to New York
at length arrived. April was^drawing
to Its close, and the weather was so
cranial that we sat with comfort In ?
? ??
group by the opened glass doors which
lead on to the veranda that overlooks /
the bay. Uncle Sam and I were smoking,
a habit which by long use our respective
ladles had grown to tolerate
at all sorts of unseasonable times and
places. Aunt Gertrude was engaged
working a monogram in silken characters
on a strange-looking purse of fine
network which she had designed for
her sister, while the latter nestled at
my side wistfully turning over an album
of photographs. "The cardinal"
had just been carried off to bed by his
nurse, after amusing us for ten minutes
by an exhibition of his precocity,^
his customary evening privilege. -BiF^
Sam was in high spirits, and more \
his former self than at any time i
his illness. After intently ob- i
.-o. ? iug his wife's work for some minuies
(my aunt had completed the C and j
was now outlining a T. not an M), he <
suddenly exclaimed: "Ernest, you are ?
a lucky dog." to which inelegant asser*
tion I signified my assent, at the same
time taking Connie's hand ia mine.
"Scores of English lords, heavily
weighted with titles and debts, sigh la >
vain for an achievement such a* ;j
yours," continued uncle Sam. "What 5
a pity it is that man, always quick to i
perceive his misfortunes, is so fre- (
quently blind to the good things which - >
fall to his share!"
"That will never be my case," I oh- |
served.
To be continued.
Here la the Real Thing.
A prominent colonial planter, well
bred (38). affectionate, excellent char- i
ucter, healthy, good, tall, fine lookicfc'-3
broad instruction, honorific gradec, j
highest European standing, owning un- 9
developed properties of immepse worth, J
wishes speedy marriage with wealthy, ,3j
independent young lady or widow, lov- J
ing and ambitious, willing to become ?
millionaire by investing a moderate f
starting capital in her husband's e#r J
tates; strictly confidential; state parti* *9
ulars.?New York Herald. 3
North America was first discovered.
by Sebastian Cabot, a Venetian, In tlit9
service of England, in 1497. I