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

A Pair of Jacks.

BYLVIV Jamisen.

CHAPTER HI. After a dreamless sleep in his great four-posted bedstead Jack awakened in the cool, fresh morning to find the bright sunlight pouring through the broad, deep windows. He required some seconds to accustom this eyes to his »ew surroundings, then bouncing out eff Led and -dressing with 'unusual haste he found his way to the •garden. “Ah,” he said, inhaling with keen enjoyment the pore, fresh air about him, “what a contrast to the city! I wonder if she is about.” “You shouldn’t speak -your thoughts aloud, if you don’t wish people to hear them. Have you just come down? I’ve been up for hours. Maje and I have had a glorious gallop.” Jack turned with a slight start, to see Mary standing in the path beside him. “How did you get here without my seeing or hearing you?” he questioned with some astonishment. “Did you rise from the ground or drop from the clouds? ’’ “Neither, inquisitor. I am only an • ordinary mortal, so ordinary that I am about Starved at the present moment. Do come to breakfast, please.” “Certainly,” returned Jack, following ■ obediently, “with great pleasure. I have not'been riding, but my appetite has assumed' extraordinary proportions, I confess.” Mr. Millard was seated in the dining- ■ room reading, but as they entered he ■ laid his book aside, and after kissing Mary greeted Jack with kindly warmth. “I hope you are both in good appetite,” he said, as they seated themselves about the table. “I can safely count on Mary, I think.”

“Always, grandpa. More particularly this morning I am ravenous, and I 6ee muffins. Under the circumstances I must begin my breakfast. “Grandpa,” she added, when the first edge of her hunger was borne away, “Mr. Beverly has confessed to being something of an artist. That something is his qualification, not mine. He has also promised to show mo some of his sketches, provided I show him some views worth copying, f think that must be a pleasant way of making one’s living. Painting pictures, I mean.” “Yes, my dear," smiled her grandfather; “but with Beverly it is an amusement, rather than a profession.” He turned his eyes questioningly upon Jack. “I must confess to having made it my profession,” returned that young man, pausing in the act of buttering his muffin. The old gentleman appeared puzzled. “You surprise me. I understood you practiced law. Is it possible I imagined it, or could I have been thinking of your father? How well I remember his first case. What a fine start it gave him. I told myself then he would surely sit on the bench some day. Vain prophecy. Alas, how time flies; it seems but a few years since, and yet ” He sighed and fell into a musing mood. “Evidently off his mental balance,” thought Jack, surprised at the information he had just received. “Father never had a law case to my knowledge. Perhaps I’m off too. It would not surprise me in the least. I wonder if I shall hear any more new points in my history.” In this he was disappointed. Mr. Millard preserved an almost unbroken silence during the rest of the meal, and immediately at its conclusion withdrew to his library, telling Mary to take good care of Jack. “That leaves me to your tender mercies,” siid Jack when they were alone. “What dd you intend to do with me?” “I don’t know,” she said quite seriously. “What would you like?” “Suppose we walk,” he suggested. “Well. Oh, I forgot, I have not fed the chickens yet. I must do that first.” “AH right; let me help you,” “You,” she repeated with an irrepressible smile. “Well, yes, you may, but I warn you in time. You don’t known what you bargain for.” “I’ll bear the consequences. Lead on.” Thus commanded, Mary tied her hat under her chin, and with Jack in her wake, proceeded to the kitchen. “Is the chickens’ breakfast ready?” she asked, walking in upon the astonished Jeannette. “Mr. Beverly made me forget the poor little things. I hope they have not starved to death.” “I wonder what you can be thinking of, Miss Mary,” was the answer, as Jeannette gave a comprehensive glapce at Jack standing meekly in the doorway. “Of the chickens, of course,” responded Mary, composedly. “Mr. Bev- • erly intends to keep off the old hens and .roosters. He will be useful as well as • ornamental.” Jack bowed gravely at this allusion to his double capacity, while Jeannette •continued to look mildly shocked. “I’ll feed them chickens myself J” she •finally declared, with ungrammatical de•cision. “Y’ou’ll do nothing of the kind,” was the equally decisive reply. “Here is the jpail, Mr. Beverly; please carry it.” “Certainly,” was the prompt response, as Jack brought down a pile of kettles and pans in his effort to reach Mary the •more readily. “Any damage?" he added, ■stopping short. “No, sir,” answered Jeannette; "but I •do feel so ashamed of Miss Mary. ” “Come,” said Mary, with imperious brevity; and, Jack obeying promptly, they were soon the'center of a group of expectant chickens. “Evidently this pail appeals to their appreciative minds and palates,” remarked Jack; “or is my manly beauty the attraction?" “The pail, certainly,” returned Mary, with dissilusionizing assurance. “Now, I will show you what to do. This is only for the mother hens apd young chickens. I feed them here, and I always have such a time to keep the older ones from getting in. See that opening there? That is where you are to stand and keep a sharp watch. They will get in if you give them a crevice. First drive those little ones in. Pshaw! You’ll frighten the life out of them. She—this way. Shake your apron at them.” “But I have no apron,” expostulated Jack. “Well, yon must shake something; your coat will do. There, they are in. Get a stick, quick, and should another chicken try to pas, strike it, if you can.” Mary gave these instructions with the utmost gravity. The ludicrous side of the situation did not appeal to her in the least, and Jack, quite carried away by the excitement of the chase, had no time for any other consideration. "You look tired already,” observed JAny. after a few seconds, as Jock

paused from his apparently laborious efforts to mop his brow. “Take care; there is an old hen and a red rooster coming up behind you. Send them flying; I detest both of them. Sho! Sho! Didn’t I tell you not let her in?” “Is she in?” cried Jack, in distressed tones. “Confound her, she was out a second ago. Here, you white imp, come out. No, you don’t. Get out! Get out!” “Say ‘Sho,’ ” interrupted Mary. “They don’t know what ‘Get out’ means. Look, quick! There’s anather rooster trying to get between your feet. I don’t believe you are much help , after all.” Mary come to this conclusion as the rooster succeeded in eluding Jack’s stick, and with outspread wings and a shriek of victory sailed into the forbidden Eden. “Help?” he repeated in disgusted tones, “who can help with such slippery creatures? I’d like to break that tiling’s neck.” “Pshaw, how a man can work himself up over a little thing. You've made more fuss this single morning than I have done in a hundred.” “I think you tremendously ungrateful. For my part I think it worse than breaking stones on the street. I’ll keep on banging if you say so. The things are like Pat’s fly; I think I have them, but when the stick comes down they are not there.” | “Of course they are not No sensible chicken would be. I’d be delighted, though, if you could manage to catch that old rooster. He is the greediest thing imaginable, and is always getting what is not intended for him. He has the luck of finding the biggest worms, and when Oh, dear, I shan’t talk any more. You have let about a dozen chickens in.” “So I have,” was the contrite answer. “They are worse than eels. Confound them! How shall I get them out?” “Impossible," said Mary, with a resigned air. “I suppose it isn’t so bad. Everything is almost gone. Rather warm, wasn’t it?” “You are making game of me,” returned Jack, detecting the spioe of mischief in her words. “I call that ingratitude.”

“Oh, no. Please don’t think me ungrateful. I .am really much obliged, and to rewaTd you I shall take you for a nice walk and show you some of the loveliest views imaginable.” “You can be kind sometimes,” he replied, as she ran off. CHAPTER IV. Dear Boy—l write this, hoping to find you in the land of the living—a possibility I somewhat doubt, in view of the late unconscionable tricks played by that thermometer of yours. I find it quite pleasant, not to say gratifying, to read that the mercury stands at 98 deg. in New York, and then look abroad upon my own cool retreat. Weston is as pleasant a village as one might wish to see, and Its surroundings would make an artist wild with delight. Not being an artist—a profession to which my friends here insist upon relegating me—my staid, legal mind manages to preserve its accustomed balance. Before leaving the city, I told you my address would be South Weston, that being, as I then supposed, the one given me by Mr. Millard. I have since discovered my mistake. A most fortunate incident put me on the right track. On the car I got into conversation with a gentleman who lives in Weston, and knows Mr. Millard intimately. He immediately gave me my true bearings. This saved me some annoyance, though I had some slight trouble about my ■trunk. I have been puzzled to know how I should have gotten South Weston to my mind. I asked, Mr. Millard about it, but he appeared quite unable to understand. To admit the plain truth, I cannot quite understand him. He is a most pleasant and agreeable gentleman, but his attitude toward me is certainly not what his letter led me to expect. They were more than cordial. He has never mentioned my father’s name, and the letters which passed between us are as though they never were. He doesn’t mention them and I don’t. You will be surprised to hear also that I have been allowed to take up my quarters at the hotel, when you know I had quite expected something very different. Surely, I was never more mistaken in the terms of an invitation in my life before. Meantime affairs are very pleasant. There- is a Mrs. Millard, a fact that rather surprised me. She is a most charming woman, and her daughter, Miss Ellis, or Miss Kilty, as everybody •calls iher, is equally so. Under the circumstances I spent a large portion of my days at Glendale.

I wish you would find time to run up here lor a while. This delightful air would infuse new life into your veins. The hotel which I honor by my residence is called Fair View, a piece of eoneedt and delicate sarcasm which I highly appreciate. It is full at the present time, so my landlord .informs me, and between ourselves, he is, not unfrequently., in the same condition himself. However, he is free, white and twenty-one, and I won’t begrudge him his little irregularities. In fact, no one does, unless it be his wife, a most remarkable woman, who manages the house and her poorer half in a manner calculated to win the admiration of a Dame Van Winkle. In my estimation, the one wise thing John Shrimp ever did was to make Matilda Butler Mrs. Shrimp. Matilda, so the story goes, was mistress of a country hotel, less pretentious even than this present Fair View, when the worthy John happened along and took up his residence ther .. John was a logician in his way, and thus he argued, as did the worthy Bitteredge before him, Matilda being single, obliges me to pay my board. Matilda, being Mrs. Shrimp, gives me my board for nothing. Therefore, Matilda shall be Mrs. Shrimp. Result: For fifteen years Matilda has boarded John Shrimp for nothing. Come and have a glimpse of this shining example of wedded bliss. ■ Come, I say, but don’t expect firstclass accommodations. You may share my room. It is the best that could be done for me under existing circumstances. I have this on the authority of Mrs. Shrimp, accompanied by one of her sweet smiles, and prefaced by the request to be allowed so to speak. It has Its drawbacks, however, among others, a lack of substantiality in chairs, bed, etc. I admire a certain steadiness in furniture as well as people. If you fancy the daily routine of my life I can promise you plenty of it. Immediately beneath my window Is the residence of a comely sow, who is at present rearing a thriving family, and my interest is always keenly alive to the interesting, not to say instructive, spectacle. ( Don’t let this brief description frighten you, for I really pine for a .glimpse of your seraphic countenance. It is now almost mail time, and as I wish to get this in I must stop immediately. Write if you are alive, and come if possible. Yours, etc., Jacij Beverly. “One duty accomplished,” soliloquized the writer of the above, as with a grand slowish be signed his najae, -“Aftonish-

tog what a bore writing is at times. Now what to do with myself. A distressing point to oonsider. I wonder If one couldn’t die of stagnation here. I might under other ciroumst&nces. Ah! I had almost forgotten my letter. I will mail that and then run over for a chat." This slightly ambiguous conclusion was evidently highly gratifying to the speaker’s feelings, for he smiled quite cheqyfully as he ohanged his coat, took his hat from the peg on the door and left his room. Ten minutes’ walk brought him to the postoffice, and upon his inquiring for the mall, one letter was handed to him. As the writing was quite strange he turned the envelope several times, examining it critically. Gaining no information in this way, he went to the comer by the window, and breaking the seal, read with much surprise the several closely written pages. “Dear Jack —Your letter received and much appreciated. Under present circumstances I scarcely hoped to be remembered at all, and my disappointment in that particular is therefore the more gratifying. “Upon reflection, I don’t feel grateful at all. After your pitching into me I feel decidedly ungrateful, not to say beligerent. What have I told Mr. Millard? you ask, with Inquisitorial brevity. How under heaven did I find out so much about you, and why in the mischief didn’t I let you into the secret? So you go on for a page or two. Now, my dear fellow, just cool off a bit. There’s nothing in the world to get into hysterics about. In substance, I told Mr. Millard that you were my friend and an exceedingly nice young man in every respect. What more would you have? “As to family history, relationship, genealogy, and such intricate subjects, I know as little of yours as Ido of my own. I refrain on principle from becoming interested in such unsatisfactory researches. My own family has never been particularly distinguished, thank heaven, and if I should, by some remote chance, become great, I shall not be subjected to the painful experience of being overshadowed by my father nor grandfather. This with all possible respect for those two worthy gentlemen. “Speaking of family ties naturally suggests Uncle John. The old sinner sent me an article the other day on ‘How a Young Man Gan Live on Ten Dollars a Week.’ I returned it with elaborate thanks, and the mild inquiry as to whether it might not be applicable to old men as well. No answer as yet. “The city gets on pretty well without you. A few people are still left. We are not a deserted villago by any moans, though your quarters look dismal enough. Scenery with you attractive, you say. I’ll warrant you find a certain pair of attractive, too. Well, I don’t blame you. I’ve been there before, you know. “By the way, I ran across John the other day. He inquired for you most particularly. There’s a young stranger at his house—weighs ten pounds, and is said to resemble his father, so far as a pronounced color permits one to judge. If you had married Mrs. John, as we thought one time you might, this joy would have been yours. Do you feel no regret? Answer in your next. In haste, “Frank." “Frank,” repeated Mr. Jack Beverly, turning the letter in various directions, with the air of one expecting Frank to look out upon him from its pages. “Who to the devil is Frank? And who is John, and Mrs. John, whom I might have married, and the young visitor? Confound it, I wonder who is trying to play a joke on me. A mighty poor one, I mast call it. Frank! Frank! Did I ever know anyone by the name of Frank? Never to my certain knowledge.” He knitted his brow over this effort at recollection, and looking straight before him, gave vent to a long, low whistle. Then once more reading his- letter without gaining any wisdom thereby, he put it in his pocket, with the words, “I’ll find the writer of this brilliant effusion before I die. Now to see if Miss Kitty is at home.” With this idea in view, he sauntered out into the shady' street, and walked for some distance in deep thought. Turning from the little village into a wellkept road, he soon reached a handsome, modern-looking residence, surrounded by beautifully laid out grounds. “Ah, she is there,” ho said softly, as a tall, fashionably dressed girl rose from the hammock and came to meet him with the words: “I thought you might come this afternoon . Mamma is out, and I have been dreadfully lonely. ” (to be continued. | The latest tfick with English horse fanciers is to send the animals to a warmer climate for the winter. It is not to be wondered at that with the enormous sums of money which are invested in some of the stars of the turf all possible means shdhld be taken to insure their health, but the Idea of sending them abroad is a novel one. It may not be long before in the columns’ of fashionable intelligence in the newspapers there will be announcements that Mr. Racing has decided to send his horse Highflier to Florida for the cold weather, that Mr. Runhard will winter his stud in the South, and that Mr. Betting will accompany his ten thousaiid dollar stallion Kiter to the south of France for the trying months of spring weather. It will be a boon to paragraphers, at least. Unlimited assurance was possessed by the young man from Tennessee who lately sought admission to West Point, and thus closed his application to the superintendent: “I want only to study military tactics. I want to stay three years. I want S4O per month. At the end of the term I want a position over some army of the United (States. I want you to send me a round ticket there and back. I think lam both physically and mentally “qualified to fill the position. I will not be out anything, but 1 want the position. Please answer this.” Take good care of your stomach. It is not a pretty thing to talk about, but upon its condition depends the state of your temper, your ability to keep your friends, the pleasure you will find in sleep, and two-thirds of your enjoyment in life. If it is full, your conscience does not trouble you. If it is empty or out of order, you are likely to behave in such a way that even your own mother will see faults in Half of the heartaches In the world, and all the “unsatisfied longings” that distress poetical people, may be traced to a stomach that does not work right. A telegram from Athens, Ga., tells of a sensational contested will case that will soon come into the courts Involving the property of the dead poet) John Howard Payne, provided the original manuscript of “Home, Sweet Home,” can be found. There should be no difficulty about that, as it is on exhibition in a museum in nearly every city.