Brown County Democrat, Volume 21, Number 39, Nashville, Brown County, 24 December 1903 — Page 2

-whenever a man liked to talk to you and take you around he was in duty hound to fall in love with you, I won’t ask any woman to share the struggles nad hardships of a poor artist's life, and I always thought you understood it.” Marion calmly folded the check and put it in her purse. “I will take it just as you mean it, and thank you a thousand times,” she said in a queer tone. “Now show me your pictures.” They roamed around the studio a little while,, when Marion made an excuse for going home. As the door closed after her Jack clenched his fists. “I do care for her. I always did! She’s the only woman in the world for me, and always will he. I’m glad she took the money.” Marion got as far as the elevator shaft, then she turned back. She knocked at the studio door, then, not wanting for him to open it, walked inside. Jack was staring out the window; he turned quickly. “I must not take it,” she said, fumbling at her purse, not seeing for tears. He placed his hands on her shoulder. “See here, Marion, I do care for you, awfully; and perhaps it is kinder, after all, to let you know, and at least give you a- chance to say whether you couldn’t take me instead of the money, or take us both.” Marion tried to find her handkerchief, but she had come away without one. Jack gently dried her tears with his own, then they both laughed. The check fell to the floor. Jack stooped to pick it up. “Will you take us?” he said, slipping one arm around her. She shyly raised her eyes to his face. “I’ll take you, .lack, dear, and we’ll share the struggles and hardships. O Jack!” and her arms stole around his neck. He gathered her close to his heart while something gleamed suspiciously in his own eyes, under the glasses. The check again fell to the floor. — The Housewife.

Salving the Senator fk Story of the Sea. In Two Farts

was invited into the chart room. “Your ship’s waiting to be salved/’ said Larry. “Rot!” replied the Senator’s master angrily; “and a man’s a fool who says otherwise than that she’s perfectly unsafe.” “Very well,” replied Walters. “I’m off aboard. I’ll see you in New York.” “Stop! stop!” cried the skipper. “You don’t mean she’s all right?” “I mean I want your apology, or your ship’s mine.” “I don’t want to waste any more time,” observed Larry after an interval of silence. “Come down your dignity or take the consequences.” Some time later the Senator, secure on a double hawser, was towing over the gilded deep, her former captain on her bridge grateful, but feeling small. The pent-up feelings of the second mate found a sympathetic ear into which to pour their load;, for surely disappointment had cut him with a cruelly keen edge. “After all the trouble and worry and risk, by , man! I thought I’d get something out of the business besides a tin medal and the sack. We’ve given that fellow our rightful salvage, and it broke me up to do it on account of the promise I made to my girl. Well —he was a shellback, same as myself. Perhaps he’s already got a wife and youngsters. The salvage on that old dragastern will be a mere nothing. If 1 could only get to that rich relation of our owner I’d boot him —no, boot him isn’t strong enough—I’d kick him until he was black and blue in the face, and then heave him overboard. Well, never mind any more now; there’s the steward banging the hash hammer.” “You like the Masterpiece?” inquired the salved passenger. “She’ll do, though she’s a hog in a seaway. But she gives me £6 a month and promises—substantial promises.” At New York, where the authorities took over the Senator for repairs, the passenger left the Masterpiece and wished Walters luck. Some days later the tramp steamed from Sandy Hook, set her course in the home trail, and after battling for 17 days berthed at one of the Newcastle quays. She had but tied up to the wharf posts when a boy handed a note over the bulwarks. Larry read it with a lengthening face and approached the second mate, who was busy scouring the decks of lines and cork fenders. “We’re wanted at the office,” he said grimly, and stalked to his room without further explanation; and each man, attired in Sunday rigout, was despondent and miserable as he stepped onto th quay. “I’m glad Nellie is not here,” thought Walters. “f m thankful Bessie kept out of the road,” added Larry. A t the first public house the two men men obtained courage for the coming disaster and later entered the steamboat owner’s office and were ushered into the presence of that gentleman, who smiled genially and presented a handshake of welcome to the mariners. He said:

a Star. The Emperor sat in Ms purple robe. Holding the scepter that swayed the globe.; Bent the slave to the laboring oar— Little to him was a groan the more; Wreathed with laurel the conqueror strode* Trampling hearts on his haughty road.; The cry of the anguished quivered far. And lo! in the darkness there shone a Star. Out from a cave in the riven rock A candle flickered; who will may modi; That thread of flame was the answer sent From Earth to the Star in the firmament. On the silence trembled a Babe’s first breath* Child to be Lord of Life and Death; Safe as a bird in the tiny nest, In the mother’s arms* on the mother’s breast; While the lowing kine stood wondering near. And the midnight waned, and the dawn’s great car .Swept in where brightly there shone a Star.

per?” I “I am, my lad.” “What’s the matter with the buck1 et?” i. “She’s suffering from a chronic desire to sink.” 1 “Been in collision?” “Yes. I think we must has struck ’ something below water, perhaps a sun3 ken wreck. Anyhow, whatever it was, it. punched a big hole in her under the ’ engine room.” “Much water in her?” 3 “Half way up the cylinders and : bunkers; the engine room’s fairly ’ drowned.” 1 “But her Plimsoll’s well above wa1 ter?” “That may be.” “Any cargo in the holds?” “Nothing. Ballast for New York.” 3 “How long do you suppose she’ll i swim?” , “A few hours.” 3 Then the lifeboat came to the side of 3 the Masterpiece, which vessel had hung 3 handy to leeward to pick up her crew. 3 Larry’s face was decidedly long as he f glanced out Of the chartroom at the - white hail and wind-squalls driving i madly from the flaked hills in the westward. , “It’s something more than desperate” he said. “We’re barely provisioned for ten days longer and now there’s 22 t more mouths to feed.” *, 5 Naturally enough with a minus 3 quantity of dividends the owner could 1 ill supply the Masterpiece generously. 5 “It’s hard lines on you,” said the " salved passenger, and then dived into ■ the shelter of the weather-dodger, t’ where Walters kept a lookout and 5 made poetry upon his life of torment. Two miles astern the Senator rolled 5 in the long seas like a huge bucket, • and buried her well-decks at intervals. 5 Bight hours had elapsed since her de- • sertion and still she did not appear to ■ settle deeper in the water. I “It’s quite time she sank,” said Wall i ters,” according to her skipper.” | The second mate lost eyes for real- ' I ity. Salvage gave him visions of dear- !: heart Nellie and a master’s berth, but • | salvage looked very uncomfortable, not i to say impossible. • | All day the Masterpiece crawled west 1 at a quarter-knot-an-hour speed and ■ the Atlantic piled up agony and ! wrought wholesale destruction about 1 the steamer’s decks; it tore out the ’ chart room, carried away stoke-hole ■ ventilators and all but put out the fires, | lifted the main winch from the deck1: bolts, cracked and tore at the bulwark : and swept the whole business pellmell -1 into the sea. In the engine room the 1 ; big Geordie mechanics throttled the ■ ] racing machinery and swore at the fate 1 that made them work knee-deep on the ', footplates in brine. j At 5 p. m. Walters took over charge ‘ of the bridge from the mate, and, glancing across the purple swells to where still hung the ungainly Senator —no , deeper, surely, he thought, than at noon —experienced a most pleasant ‘ heart-throbbing which sent his half- ■; frozen blood oozing to his fac.e, and for | a time he became dreamily thoughtful. . ; Larry unpleasantly awoke the second mate. i “Things are worse than I thought,” he said. “We’ve barely provisions for five days for one crew. I’ve inspected I the lazaret and there’s no doubt at all | upon the matter. Still, the weather’s ,| clearing and we’ll soon make good speed.” j Walters came quickly to Larrk and said, “I’ve been thinking it over, and I I’ve got an idea.” j “Let’s hear it, man.” I “That deserted ship has all we require.” i “Well, what of that?” i “Hang on to her, and when the sea i smooths down I’ll go aboard and get all you want.” “Surely you’re not so mad. The Senator’s sinking. Her skipper says so, and he ought to know.” “He ought to,” replied Walters, quietly. Larry turned on the second mate quickly. “Well?” he said. “That ship is not sinking, and I’ve an idea what’s saving her.” “Go on.” i “That’s all.” ' | “Are you sure of all you say?” I “Positive.” The skipper stamped upon the bridge and strode athwart. At last he gave Walters a decision. “The chance is yours. Ring the engines down ‘slow.’ ” They held tight to the Senator, and the weather slowly fined. The late skipper showed some uneasiness., and asked, “Do you mean to tow her, Captain Larry?” “I’ve done worse things in my time,” was the response; and the captain of the Masterpiece went to the upper bridge and waited for the moon to i clear the darkness. At midnight the j yellow globe swung over the eastern swells and sent a pale, golden light I shafting over the heaving bosom of the Atlantic, revealing the Senator riding the seas quite comfortably. By the time the moon meridianed the weather had decidedly improved and the sea gone down. Larry ported his helm and brought the Masterpiece almost alongside the Senator, so that the drippings from her scuppers and plate-edges could be plainly heard aboard the sister tramp. The Senator’s skipper, leaning over the rail, interrogated Larry: “What do you mean to do with my ship?” “Board her and get provisions for your crew and yourself.” “You’re utterly foolish. The old box won’t live five minutes.” “Long enough for my second mate to take her in hand.” “You’d pirate my steamboat?” “Not for worlds.” “I’ll go aboard, too.” “With my permission. Oh, no, sir; you’ll stay where you are.” A boat was put out; the lifeboat was drifting east in sections; and half an hour afterward Walters returned with his boat loaded with tinned provisions. “She’s a safe salvage,” he exclaimed. “Not a drop of water in the holds; her bulkheads have saved her. What water she has cannot be increased.” Finally the ex-captain of the Senator

PART II. It was when the high dawn slanted athwart the boiling ocean that the vessel revealed herself in true bolors, and Walters banged his glasses into the box with unmistakable disgust. “A pot-bellied old coal wagon bound to the west’ard.” “Yes, she’s a funny old sardine-tin,” compromised Larry. “But she may be a valuable boat,” he added, hopefully. “She’s too painfully built for that,” subtracted Walters. v Then a hoarse shout floated dowm to the Masterpiece on the streaming wind: “Will you take us off? We’re sinking.” “Oh, dear!” groaned the second mate. “There’s nothing to be earned there hut a tin medal, and emphatically I didn’t come to sea for honor.” To the hail of the steamer to windward the skipper of the Masterpiece shrieked reply across the mad seas with the siren, forged half a mile farther, and then eased his engines, so that his vessel lost headway. He looked at the second mate and then overside at the great seas which screwed upward the jerry-tramp; and when a great roller had swept the rusty side and left a momentary peace in its wake, the captain spoke; “If you can get a crew to volunteer, go ahead; but it’s a risky job. Mister Walters.” •’Beggars are not choosers, and might as well die fighting,” answered Walters and grinned gloomily. He left the bridge, roused all hands, and arraigned them on the steering bridge, where whisky was provided by the skipper to give the sailors encouragement. When the captain had assisted himself generously, he proceeded from pleasure to business 1 . “There’s more whisky where this came, from; but that’s got to be earned. Astern of us there’s a steamboat’s crowd yelling for us to take ’em off. As I understand, there’s no salvage, because the boat’s sinking. But there’ll be a smoking concert at the Liverpool home if you fellows do the right thing; and anyone bold enough to get oniy half-drowned will no doubt be awarded a good, solid, unbreakable medal. Don’t yon think it’s worth earning?” However, the hands appeared unanimous in adverse opinion; they were not quite so ready to volunteer manning a boat as they were to drink free whiskey, and when Walters had waited impatiently two minutes for answer he pitched upon the best man of the crowd. “Griffen,” he said savagely, “coma out of that gum-sucking congregation. You’re worth three pounds per month, I and one-half your voyage is pay to the i slop-chest. If you get drowned now instead of a little later on you’ll die to ! win-’ard of your debts; in the other case you’ll work for nothing.” j Griffen gave consent to the usurious' proposal by striding across the the bridge. “Whisky,” he observed, “will nerve a chap to do anything,” and he ; cast fond eyes upon the bottle; while Larry overcame his acquisitive scrupies and kindly took the ’int, as Qrif- I fen expressed it.

Oh, stars by the million shone above! In the wide blue spaces we watch and love; Stars like grains of sand by the sea, Through wheeling clusters of worlds they be; But once through the gates of heaven ajar, When a Child was born, there shone a Star. Children they come to the palace hail. Children they come to the cabin small; To the tent, to the ship, to the poor man’s cot — Drear in the home where God sends them not; But once, just once, through the gates ajar, God’s own Child came, and there shone a Star. Over desert places its golden light Flamed like a torch the livelong night; Bowing low to the wonderful East, In stately procession, king and priest. And a marvelous, moving caravan Sought for the gift that had guerdoned man. When, banners of glory waving far, Once, for his people, God kindled

Jack’s Christmas <3ift J3 s S a I a B n D e t son

Some Fatai Christmases. Christinas, which should be, and usually is, the merriest day of all the year, has sometimes been reddened by bloodshed and blackened by tragedy. One of the most barbarous of the persecutions against the Christians was begun by Diocletian on Christmas day, A. D. 303, when a church in Nicodemia filled with Christians was ordered by him to be set on fire. Every way of egress was barred and not a single worshipper escaped the flames, Yuletide in 1066 was a melancholy time in England, which, nevertheless, always celebrated it with the utmost eagerness. For Harold, the last of the Saxons, had fallen before the Norman Conqueror, and on December 25 of that year William the Conqueror was crowned in Westminster Abbey. The occasion was signalized by the slaughter of a huge crowd of Anglo-Saxons outside of the church, through a mistaken idea that they had risen in revolt. Exactly two years later there was an uprising of the malcontents in the northern counties, who hoped to throw off the Norman yoke. Wik, f<( ai mt .vhcd in person against the ret ,1s and directed a universal slaughter. His men surprised several garrisons and put them to the sword. Neither age nor sex was spared, and every house in the disaffected regions was razed to the ground. It is said that over one hundred thousand men, women and children perished on December 25, 1068. It was on Christmas day in the year 1170 that Thomas a Beckett, the greatest English cleric of his day, ascended the Cathedral Chiu'ch, at Canterbury, and preached what may be called his own funeral sermon. The wprds he made use of so angered Henry II that he let fall those fatal words, “If anybody loved me he would rid me of this turbulent priest,” Four knights took him at his word, and on December 29 they slew the prelate before the altar of St. Benedict, *n the northern transept of Canterbury Cathedral. On December 25, 1384, John Wickliffe died as he was about to preach his Christmas sermon. One of the saddest Christmases known in London was that of the year 1663. The Great Plague had stricken the city and the people were dying at the rate of a thousand a day. On December 25, 1739, began what is known as the Great Frost, which lasted for six weeks without a break. The Thames was frozen over, an ox was roasted whole on the ice by London Bridge and a fair was held on the solid river.

Marion Hayes was standing before the entrance of a large dry goods store in a western city, waiting for a car. Her day’s work was over, and she was dreadfully tired. The holiday rush was begun; she had sold that day over three hundred dollars’ worth of goods in her department—the cloak department. A car came plunging along, illumined with a green light, the gong clanging loudly. In obedience to tier signal the motorman stopped tire wierd, heavilyladen conveyance and she stepped aboard. Once inside, she caught the strap quickly in order to steady herself as the car lurched forward. A tall, rather distinguished lookingman, wearing eyeglasses, rose and beckoned to her to take his seat. As Marion, ame toward the vaca t seat a look of recognition leaped into his keen eyes. He said in a pleasant, mellow voice, “Why, isn’t this Miss Hayes ?” “Well, Mr. Harwood.! Where did you come from?” she exclaimed, extending her hand, which he grasped heartily. “Where did you come from?” he retorted. “Didn’t I leave you in New York, painting with the combined energy of seven ordinary women? Well, I’ve a studio here; getting along first rate, too —lessons, portraits and what I sell. Sold three pictures yesterday; made a pretty good haul. These westerners have the cash, you know. They are Philistines and all that, but I don’t intend to starve in a garret for art’s sake; it isn’t my style.” “When did you come back from Paris ?”

“Mr. Walters, I wish to appoint you as mate of the Masterpiece for a few voyages, when I shall be pleased to promote you to master. Captain Larry, when the transaction of my taking over the Senator is eomi te, I shall desire you to take charge i ,4f iuM. at, ot course, an increased salary. The Masterpiece will be here only a fortnight; so I’d advise you both to skip and have a holiday while the opportunity offers.” “He’s the stuff,” Walters heard a voice he recognized say, and, looking into an out-of-the-way corner, discovered the big passenger regarding him. The man came across the private office. “I am Mr. Slade,” he said, “the cousin of your owner, and upon whom”— the man smiled and put a greeting hand out to Walters—“you swore vengeance.” For a moment things real faded from the eyes of Walters. He forgot about steamboats and hard fate, and all the rest of it and in place there rose a vision of dear heart Nellie hugging him on the quay and giving him his £15 a month and all he had fudged, a glorious and longed for welcome. (The End.)

by saying: “Don’t you want to showme what you did that last year? You went to Darnell after you left the League, didn’t you?” Marion brought her canvasses and laid them before him silently. Jack examined the studies one by one. “Same power, same touch; but, by Jove.! how you’ve improved! That boy’s head is fine! Darnell was the man for you. Remember how we differed about that Academy picture of his? What a thundering shame about your eyes! Have you seen the best oculists?” ' “Pretty good ones. They all say the same thing; it will take time to recover from the strain. 1 did ever so much extra work, you know—dinner cards, all that land of stuff. Electricity would do my eyes good, but it is too expensive.” She tried to speak lightly, but felt her attempt was not a success. “It is tough, and no mistake,” Jack said, emphatically. They talked a little longer, then he rose to go. “Come around to the studio and see what I have done,” he said; and she promised she would do so soon. Christmas was now but three days distant. They were miserable days to Marion, for the revival of old ambitions made the sordid life at the store unbearable. It seemed wrong, unjust, that for the want of a little money she must give up forever all it was in her to become. She spent the little she had saved consulting another oculist; who told her the same thing: electrical treatment -was all that could help her. Christmas morning dawned clear and bright. Her cousin’s little girls were exulting over the treasures Santa Claus brought, and although Marion received her share of pretty remembrances, her heart was heavy as lead. When the postman came, among other things for Marion was a letter addressed in unfamiliar writing. She hastily tore the envelope open and took out a check for fifty dollars. It was indorsed “Pay to the order of Marion Hayes “J. HARWOOD.”

The crowd had been waiting for a deader, so that there was a full complement chosen to man the lifeboat. Then all hands set to work to sling overboard the. craft of rescue, while to leeward the vessel in distress bleated on her whistle for help. Soon the lifeboat took the water, and, with a half-, “oil of new three-inch line in her stern, dropped astern. The big seas caught her and flung her Into a.chasm that yawned black and and the boatmen held to the thwarts and wondered how many seconds would elapse before they should say “Amen!” But marvelously the lifeboat swung up and over the seas and rode them as a graceful albatross rides Cape Horners. All the time the skipper watched anxiously from the poop and slacked the line from the bits, and sighed relief when the staggering craft bobbed to his ken every other half minute. “It’s not exactly a yachting expedition,” he defined, and the boat shot down, down, until Larry shook with a terrible fear—and then bravely out of the smoking trough the lifeboat climbed. When the line came to a finish Walters put out his sea anchor to lessen the drift and keep her head on, and for the next ten seconds no one knew precisely what happened. A great green wall of water, white-fringed and ominous, rose over the stem, and as some person shouted “Hold on!” an ice-bit-ing sea snapped over the boat and its crew. At the limit of those ten seconds Grilfen, bathing neck-deep, came out of the salty smother and grasped the boat’s gunwhale, and the crew hauled him aboard and laid him, a shivering heap, upon the bottom boards. After many editions of this the lifeboat, with three men bailing her out j for dear life, came alongside the steam- \ ship Senator, from which a line was thrown and many eager faces peered. | Down the ropes the Senator’s crew came swiftly, with death above and death below —or at least a promise of it. A big man was the last to descend, and he came as coolly as if he were entering a ballroom. He squeezed himself on the stern thwart and smiled,' which irritated Walters. “I don’t know what you see to mon- j key at,” he spluttered. “Hi! shove her] off there, some of you, unless you wanti us to be swamped.” “I’ve been looking for adventure,” | explained the big man. “and I’ve found i it — heaps of it. And I’m not going to look for it any more.” The second mate regarded the speaker with appreciation. “Yes,” he said, “you’ve about gone the whole hog, Mister Quixote, and I admire your effort to be drowned rather than buried and to save funeral expenses. It’s a good idea, that adventure business, and my devout wish for you is that you get an epitaph in the At- j lantic. It’s a nice poetical place, isn’t it? It’s you passenger Jonahs that cause mishaps at sea. Mister Quixote, and that’s my belief.” Then Walters addressed himself to a black-whiskered man, whom the rescued crew treated with some deference. “I believe you are the Senator’s sklp-

| Origin of Christmas Evergreens. The use of evergreens at Christmas | time is older than the Christmas tree, | the Christians seeming to have copied it from their pagan ancestors. In a very old book we find this reference to the use of evergreen at Christmas time: “Against the feast of Christmas every man’s house, as also their parish churches, were decked with holme, ivy, bayes and whatsoever the season of the year afforded to be green. The conduits and standards of the streets were likewise garnished, among the which I read that in the year 1414, by tempest of thunder and lightning, toward the morning of Candlemas day, at the Leadenhall, in Cornhill, a standard of tree, being set up in the midst of the. pavement, fast in the ground, nailed full of holme and ivy, for disport of Christmas to the people, was torn up and cast down by the malignant spirit (as was thought) and the stones of the pavement all about were cast in the streets and into divers houses, so that the people were sore aghast at the great tempest.”—Leslie’s Weekly. Cutting His Eye Teeth. “Mammy,” said Pickaninny Jim, “kin Santy Claus see in de dark, same as a cat?” “I dunno, chile,” answered his mother. “What makes yon s’picion dat he could?” “He nebber makes no mistake an’ gibs me none or dem rockin’ horses an’ steam injines like what de white Chilian gits.”—Washington star. Shattered Her Meals. Miss Askitt —Why is Miss Wunder so , lessimistic about Chrintmas ? Miss Telitt —She hun ; up a $12 pair of silk hose last year, and some one stole them.

A Lucky Thing. “There does seem to be somthing in the belief about the luck attached to my left hind foot,” remarked the rabbit. “Think so?” replied the squirrel. “Yes. At any rate I’m satisfied if I hadn’t had mine with me this morning I wouldn’t have got away from that dog.”—Kennebec Journal. His Limit. “But you play poker, dad,” urged the boy. “Oh, yes, I play occasionally,” admitted the father. “Then why can’t I?” “Because, my boy, my income won’t stand the drain of more than one poker player in the family.”—Chicago Post. A Reason for It. “What’s the matter with old Sponlulix, anyway?” “No one knows. The doctor refuses to give his trouble a name.” , “Why is that?” “Oh, I suppose he can charge more for a mysterious ailment than he can for any other kind.”—Chicago Post. Came Near it. “Ah,” sighed Miss Antique, with a languishing glance in the direction of Mr. Oldboy, “if I had been born in the days of chivalry!” “Well,” he said, as he scratched the bald spot on the top of his head, fif’ou came pretty near it.”—New York | Soul of Honor. “Old Bullion is the very soul • school courtesy, isn’t he?” “What makes you think so?” “Why he wouldn’t play bridge his daughter’s husband for fea might win some of his own mo back.” —Town Topics. That’s All. Tommy—Pop, why do people to pay duty on things they brir Europe? Tommy’s Pop—Just as a r custom, my son. —Philadelpht

“Two years ago. Been here ever since. Queer I never ran across you before. Tell me what you are up to.” “I am a saleswoman in Wilson & Carr’s cloak department.”' “Great Scott! What’s that for?” “Oh, my eyes gave out. I strained them the last winter in New York, after you left. I spent three weeks in a dark room then, and when I came out they were so weak I could do nothing. I went home for a year; they were not on bit better. It was necessary I should do something, for my father has a hard time to get along; so my cousin got me this place. This is my corner. Please stop the car.” He pulled the strap.. “I’m coming to see you. When are you at home?” “Sunday, and every evening but Saturday evening. Number thirty-two, this street.” * * * * When they were both students in the Art League in New York, some years ago, she and Jack Harwood were great chums. As Marion vainly tried to sleep that night she had an attack of memory and lived those days over again. It had been a terrible thing to put by all the dreams and aspirations of that time. Seeing Jack once more brought back the old pain which the dull routine of her present occupation had alsiost effaced. The next day was Saturday, with its extra toil, for they had to stay at the More until ten o’clock. She slept from pure exhaustion that night. Sunday afternoon about four o’clock Jack called. “Couldn’t you find anything but this murdering shop work?” he asked, thinking Marion looked uncommonly well in. that soft brown thing with the big lace ruffles. “No. I can’t even teach; I tried it at home. The work isn’t so bad when you’re used to it.” He shook his head in disapproval. Marion went on nervously: “Really funny things happen, sometimes. The other day a man and a woman came to see about buying a shawl. She couldn’t make up her mind which one she liked best, so she decided to go home and think it over. When they went away I asked them to come to me if they came back again, and the old man said, ‘Guess we’ll know you—you look just like our Bridget.’ Then a Bohemian woman came in last aight to buy a coat. She bought her husband along, and when he objected to the price she just took hold of his nose and pulled it till he gave in.” Jack smiled and changed the subject

A note was inclosed which read; “Please accept this as a substantial expression of the sympathy of your old friend, and use it in some way to get back your eyes.” Marion, woman-like, had a good cry when she was alone in her room. Feelings of mingled surprise, pleasure and resentment passed rapidly through her mind. Of course she mustn’t keep the money, everybody would talk so; but her heart was touched by the kindness. She always had liked him so much in the old days—too much, she once haa thought. She would take it back. She put on her things and started at once. As she left the elevator and waited for an answer to her knock, she wished she had written a note instead. Jack opened the door. “Why, I’m awfully glad to seeyou,” he said. Marion dropped into a chair. “It Is ever and ever so kind of you,” and her lips would tremble, “but I can’t take it, indeed I can’t,” she said, holding the check toward him. “And why not?” he asked with an amused smile. “Because it isn’t, right. I know the kindness of your heart. I appreciate your sympathy ” “Do you imagine I can’t afford it?” he interrupted. “Come. Own up.” Marion laughed nervously. “Judging from the financial condition of most artists I should call it a munificent sum to give away.” “I will be candid with you. I did intend to put that in the bank to swell my small hoard; but when I saw you and heard about your hard luck, I changed rny mind. It seems very little to do for you; I only wish it were twice the sum. Wait,” he continued, as Marion tried to speak, “let m© have my say out. There’s too much nonsense talked and thought about friendly relations like ours. I don’t deny I shouldn’t care to do it for most girls; no, I don’t know another girl I would do it for. I want you to know that. I enjoyed your friendship in the old times, because you were sensible and didn’t think