Democratic Sentinel, Volume 16, Number 9, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 18 March 1892 — A Pair of Jacks. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

A Pair of Jacks.

BYLVIV Jamisen.

CHATTEB I. “Well, here I am," soliloquized Jack Beverly as he stood on the platform of a «yi»H country station. “I supposo that is the village through the trees yonder. I wonder what sort of hotel I*ll find there. First rate, Frank says. But I know just how far his opinion goes. However, the scenery is promising, and I dare say I can stand a few weeks of this. So far so good. Now to see about my trunk and then ” “Hello! where is my trunk?" With the question on his lips the speaker moved down the narrow platform without encountering the familiar object he sought. A email trunk of black leather, bearing his Initials but no further resemblance to his property, was the only obJect in sight. “A nice piece of business," he muttered. “What's to be done, I wonder. Ah, a man at last. Perhaps he can throw some light on the subject.” “Your trunk, sir,” repeated the nowcomer, when the grievance was explained. “Isn’t that it, sir?” “That thing!" Jack gave rather an uncomplimentary glance toward the small object of black. “No, mine does not resemble that in the least. They have foiled to put it off evidently, and meantime I am greatly inconvenienced.”' “I am very 601x5', sir. No mistako in checking it, I suppose?” "Mistake —no. I bought my ticket for Weston, and received my " “Ah,” interrupted the man, with a smile of intelligence, “this is South Weston. Weston is live rhiles above.” Jack looked slightly bewildered. “South Weston,” he repeated, in perplexed tones; “I don’t understand." “No, sir; a vfry natural mistake. Two names much alike. I’ll telegraph for your baggage. What name, please?” “Name? Oh, my name —Beverly, but wait a second. There’s no necessity to send for the thing. I’ll take the next train to Weston.”

“If you are Mr. Beverly, sir, you don’t need to go to Westen.” Jack turned with a decided start to see the station ma iter nodding familiarly to a short 6tout man who hod | come rather noiselessly upon them. "I’m sorry I’m late, sir," continued the intruder. “Maje was in one of his tantrums. Tho carriage is right here, if you’ll follow me." “Carriage, repeated Jack, knitting Us brows in grave perplexity. “Whose carriage?” An expression of surprise passed over foe man’s somewhat stolid face. “Mr. Millard’s, sir,” he answered, “Your letter was delayed; wo didn’t get ,it until this morning. The old gentleman and Miss Millard expect you.” “The deuce they do,” muttered Jack under his breath. “Millard! Millard! Ah, the name of Frank’s charming friends; and my letter? Oh, Frank’s, I dare say. Peculiar, though, I declare. I wonder if this fellow is perfectly sane." “Look here," he added aloud; “are you unite sure that Miss—, that is, Mr—. Oh, confound it. Are you sure lam expected?" The old man evidently thought he had wasted sufficient time in idle questioning, for his answer was somewhat short. “Mr. Beverly is expected, sir; I was told to meet him.” “All right," was the agreeable answer. “I cannot be mistaken in my own identity. Under the circumstances, I suppose, I should telegraph for my trunk. What is your name? Toby, eh? And this is the carriage and Maje. Well, Toby, let me know when we reach our destination." With these words Jock stepped into the carriage, lit a cigar, and settled himself to enjoy the picturesque scenery about him.

“Hero we are, sir." Alter twenty minutes’ riding •toby’s bead was thrust through the window with this information. "Are we?” questioned Jack, recalling bis wandering thoughts and turning his attention to the house before him. It was a long, Jow structure of stone and wood, surrounded by broad verandas and a quaint, old-fashioned garden, whose beds and borders were a medley of bright-hued flowers. “Here comes Miss Millard, sir.” Again was Toby’s head thrust through the window, and Jack found a fresh object to engage his attention. This time it was a girl riding towards him. Whether she was pretty he could not decide after his first brief scrutiny, but ' her attire was highly disillusionizing. The faded, ill-fitting waist and skirt had evidently been diverted from its original use, and dignified into a riding habit, and the battered straw hat, confined beneath her chin by an almost colorless piece of ribbon, bore ample proof of long and hard service. “An ill-dressed woman is always an abomination,” commented Jack, “but that rig rather beats anything I’ve yet come across. I begin to think this family slightly off their mental balance. Confound that hat. It hides her face completely.” “Back already, Toby?" asked a fresh, clear voice, in a lowered tone, as the owner of the old hat came to a standstill. “Yes, Miss Mary, and I’ve got him.” “Oh, Toby,” was the answer in a half whisper. “What a way to express it. He may think, we have some designs upon him. Is he in there?” “Yes, miss, returned Toby, glancing through the carriage window to assure himself on this point. Mary slipped from her saddle. “I suppose you are Mr. Beverly,” she said, looking rather curiously at Jack. "I am glad to see you, Mr. Beverly. Won’t you come in. I will tell grandpa you are here.” The tone was warm and cordial, and Jack found himself studying intently the dark, haughty face. It held all the charm of caprice and illasive moods. No feature was perfect. The mouth was too broad, the nose too abort, but the eyes were clear and beautiful, the complexion rich and warm, the lips full and mobile. “Frank was right In one particular," wss his mental comment, as he followed Mary through the broad hall into the ramie parlor. “riltellgrandpa youhave come,” Mary said again when they had reached this room. “He is quite an invalid. I fear you will find us both rather prosy. We nave so tow visitors. As a rule, we don’t “That is rather plain spoken, isn’t it?” •few added with a slight accession of •dor, “but you must understand what I swan. Grandpa has decided that we Shall b* friends. Ho has been looking hniri to your visit for some time.” “Wall," commented Jack, aa she left

him to his meditations, “I must say I cannot understand this extraordinay Interest in my humble self. If Frank holds the key to the riddle, I’ll have it." The riddle, as Jack called it, seemed more of a riddle than ever, when a few minutes later Mr. Millard welcomed him with the most cordial warmth. Quite overpowered, Jack could only murmur his thanks, while the old gentleman followed up his first remarks by a number of questions, most of which, he answered himself. “You are not like your father, my boy,” he said, sinking back in his chair, and observing Jack with a scrutinizing interest. “You don’t remember him, I daresay. We wero great friends. His death affected me deeply, and it was only quite recently and by the barest chance that I heard of your existence. Well, well, how time flies! But reminiscences are always painful; let us talk of something more cheerful.” When supper was over, and Mary had lert them for a few moments, Mr. Millard began to dilate upon the beauties of the country about them.

“I seldom go beyond my garden gate," he concluded, “ but Mary knows tho locality thoroughly." “Then I hope Miss Mary will consent to play the guide for my benefit," remarked Jack. “Yes, yes,” put in the old gentleman; “she will. As I so}', she knows the place thoroughly. Sho has lived here 60 long and been so much alone, it has boon a solitary existence for her—very solitary. Sho has had no friends; no social advantages. Her lack of knowledge on many points might impress a stranger unfavorably. I have foreseen all the possibilities arising from such social isolation without possessing the power to avert them. ’ You will excuse me for speaking in this way,” ho broke off abruptly, as an expression of pain flitted across his face. “Thesd thoughts constantly obtrude themselves. They pain me inexpressibly. I have broken all my old tics. Mary is the one link that holds mo to earth—her welfare my own interest in life.” These words, expressed with a peculiar earnestness, moved Jack deeply. He endeavored to put his own thoughts and feelings into words, but found it well nigh impossible to do so. “Miss Millard does not happen to miss any of these advantages,” he said at last. “Perhaps lack of worldly knowledge is to be preferred to an excess. She is ” “Grandpa, are you discussing me?” Both gentlemen turned with a slight start to see Mary standing in the open doorway. “Y’ou were talking about mo,” sho continued in a voice that held a hint of sharpness in its usnai clear tone. “Please don’t do so again, unless I am present to have my say.” “A spoiled child, as you see, Beverly," interrupted tho old gentlemnn, with quaint humor. “I have found it impossible to deny her anything. Now lam allowed uo rights whatever. Sit down, Mary; we will promise to be less personal in future.” Long after he was in bed that night Jack's thoughts constantly returned to Mary. Her bright, changeful face, her quaint, original sayings, even her very gestures, he recalled with wonderful vividness. “Why didn’t Frank give me some idea," he asked himself. “Tho slightest hiftt that I was to meet tho most extraordinarily self-opinionated young woman, ever fashioned by the hands of tho Almighty. How she would make some of Madam Grundy's votaries stare and start. I have an Idea I slia’n’t And my visit dull. I’m a lucky devil, any way you put it, and I must thank Frank for this last stroko of good fortune. By the way, I wonder how Frank discovered the friendship between my father and Mr. Millard, and why did ho not tell mo of it? I’ll tax him with it when I write. Now it is but a poor part of wisdom to exhaust my mental forcos in this way, so to sleep and dream.”

CIIAETEII 11. Mary Millard had no rocolloctton of either mothor or father. The one early event which had impressed itself upon her memory was foe death of her grandmother. She often recalled with painful vividness her grandfather’s passionate grief, and the bitter cry with which he had clasped her to his heart: "You are all I have in the world, Mary." She was but seven years old when they came to live in the old house in foe quiet New York village. Contentedly self-buried, Mr. Millard devoted ljjmself to hiß books, and apparently cared nothing for the world whioh circled round the changeless habits of his dally lifo. Mary’s delight, however, know no bounds. The beauty of life is irrepressible, and her heart was open to its faintest impression. “We must call it Kobin’s Rest,” she declared; “the trees are literally alive with robins. Oh, grandpa, I shall be so happy here." And certainly she was happy as foe violet in the shadow of foe wildwood, or foe birds who sang in foo trees around here.

Her education, so far as books went, was gained from her grandfather, tffbugh the task of studying was not one to which she took kindly. She learned more readily from nature Itself. Her powers of observation were quickened and sharpened, and the very solitariness of her life gave a warmer tone to her Imagination. But what her grandfather regretted most deeply was her lack of friends, or friends of her own age and condition, South Weston being made up of hardworking farmers and their families, none of whom were interested in anythin higher than their stock and crops. under such conditions the years had passed, and Mary was eighteen before she herself realized the fact. There was no change in her feelings or views of life, but she was consalous that her grandfather’s eyes followed her with a deeper sadness than formerly. One day he said to her quite suddenly: “Mary, do you realize that you are a woman?” Mary was decidedly startled at this intelligence. 'lndeed, I don’t, grandpa, and I don’t wish to. It will seem like being someone else." They were together in the study; Mr. Millard in his accustomed chair, and Marv in her corner beside him. “Yes," he continued after a second’s silence, “you are eighteen, and at that age " “One is supposed to be a woman,” put in Mary, rising from her 6tool and walking across the room with a half-serious, half-comic air. “It is rather hard, grandpa, that one must be, whether one wishes or not. Now look at me, please. Am I taller than I was a month ago? Am I the least bit wrinkled, or, has my hair turned gray! No, no,” she added with a shake ofthe head, “it isn’t any use. Let us talk of something else." She was back In her place, her hand upon his knee, her bright face raised to his. He shook his head with a half sigh. ‘Most young ladies "he began.

(She raised her hands with a protesting ‘gesture. "If you have any consideration for me, grandpa, don’t bring up most young ladies. They and I have nothing in common. Let us drop the subject. Do, for one more interesting. Please tell me what Jeannette means by her dark hints about a visitor. Surely we ar« not going to indulge in anything so giddy." She gave him a half-laughing, halfquestioning glance, and clasping hes hands about her knees, she rooked backward and forward, with a sort of rhythmio motion. “What has Jeannette told you?" he asked, smiling at her expression. "Oh, a whole rigmarole, in odd bits and at odd times. I’m to dress better because he is rich and hsed to fashionable girls. I’m to dispense with my uncouth manners because he Is accustomto lady-like females. In short," sha added, with fine scorn, "I’m to be a perfect little prig to suit his fastidious taste. Now, grandpa, if you have invited a man of that description to visit us I cannot help saying you've done a most foolish thing. Didn’t you reflect how dreadfully plain we'il seem in contrast to his people? and don't you know that while I am perfectly contented with my life and everything here, I’d feel like killing a man who’d dare to look down on me or you. Men like him are sure to break out some time, and I know I’ll break out too. Who Is he, anyhow?" “After such a tirade, I am almost afraid to say," was the laughing response. “But," he added more gravely, “I hope I can trust you to be a polite little hostess. lam particularly interested In this young Beverly. His father and I were old and dear friends. Circumstances, however, caused us to lose 6lght of each other. He went to California, married there, and died a few years later, leaving this son, of whose existence I heard only a few months ago. I wrote to him Immediately, receiving quite a characteristic letter in answer. This visit Is the result of my invitation. I am anxious for you to like him and to make his stay with us as pleasant as possible. lam sure he cannot be otherwise than agreeable, as I hear only foe best accounts of him." “It sounds very nice,” said Mary, with a reflective air, “but it strikes me he will have to be agreeable to make up for foe disturbance he’ll create.” Three days later Jeannette was putting foe guest room in order, and Mary was watching operations. “Look here Jeannette," she cried gayly, “I believe you consider him a ‘fairy prince.’ I never saw you beat that old bed so hard before." “I want to make it comfortable. Miss Mary. Your grandpa’s guest mustn't have nothing to complain of." “He’ll be an ungrateful wretch if he does complain," returned Mary with decision. "We are going to give him a royal welcome. I bet he never had such a big bed before in his life. I hope he’s tali. You didn’t hear grandpa say, I suppose?" “No, I haven’t heard nothing about his length or width either, and I don’t care, neither. I only know you are wearing me to a bone, with them self-willed ways of yours.” “To a what?” cried Mary with a quizzical glance at the portly fraihe before her. “Oh, Jeannette, you are provoking sometimes. I suppose you are still harping on my clothes. You’d have mo get a lot of now dresses just for that man. I hate new dresses. Besides, they take a lot of money, and- I shouldn’t amount to anything after all my trouble. If my old rigs are good enough for grandpa, they are good enough for any man in creation. I don’t care a snap of my finger for that Beverly, or whatever his name is. He’ll be suro to Imagine I’m dressing for him, so if my clothes are outrageous he can’t imagine it, that’s all there is about it. I’d like to see him laugh at them. Just let him dare.” (to be continued.]

Rosebeuky, the famous jumping horse, died in Chicago of injuries received in an attempt made to clear a bar 7 feet 5$ inches high. His record was 7 feet 5| inches. The pathos of Roseberry’s death will perhaps lead to considerable talk of the cruelty of forcing dumb animals to tests of agility and speed. But In such a case as this the extenuation is almost adequate. If the performances of the animals were perfunctory the cruelty would be obvious, but the race horse loves the track even better than the jockey, and it is not a forced supposition that Roseberry had a consciousness of the feat which he attempted and a strong delight In the attempt, and was, all in all, as free a moral agent in the matter as his rider. Men are committing suicide every day in a wild struggle to accomplish the Impossible. There may be a stronger pathos in the death of a horse under similar circumstances, hut the principal reasons for this are the uniqueness of the event and tho fact that the beast has no tongue with which to describe the humiliation of his defeat or the agony of his last hours.

Has the American girl learned to cook? A poet in the Chicago Herald leads us to think that she has. Not long ago the main body of United States poets was occupied with showing that, however great our girls’ attractions and accomplishments might be in other respects, they didn’t know how to cook. This new Western bard drops that subject as if the cooking propaganda had been successful, and takes up the misfortune that, al. though the knowledge of the women of to-day is immense, they will “get oil a street car backward.” Next to acquiring the habit of having her change ready to hand at the elevated stations, the most valuable improvement of which woman, bless her heart, Is susceptible lies in learning to face the horses when getting off the street cars, and, in getting on and off, always to take hold of the handle toward the front. We say this not for our own particular benefit,* meaning man’s, but for woman’s.

Jules Verne has been speculating again. He now claims to have discovered /frhat the world will be like after ten centuries shall have rolled around. Mr. Verne Is a more careful prophet than some alleged statesmen have proved in this country when prophesying and speculating regarding political events. It would be well for other prophets to consider the propriety of placing the date of events foreseen at as safe a distance as the French novelist. They would thus escape the humiliation that makes their slumbers uneasy. It is gratifying to note that national legislation for the protection of railroad employes is already being arranged for. If it be possible tc find a uniform car coupling that is satisfactory it should be promptly adopted In Interstate commerce.