Democratic Sentinel, Volume 16, Number 10, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 25 March 1892 — A Pair of Jacks. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

A Pair of Jacks.

BYLVIV Jamisen.

.. / CHAPTER V. * "I've found a. New York pap rat last, muoh fomy surprise. I did not believe this place could boast the possession of one.” “But now that you know it can, yonr opinion of us is raised. I dare say. We are slightly civilizod, you see. ” ' Jack made no cotmnent upon Mary’s decidedly sarcastic words, but throwing himself upon the grass beside her, he began to unfold his paper. Presently changing his mind he refolded it and turning toward her said, somewhat irrelevantly: “Do you ever grew lonely here?” She looked at him with some surpriso, and answered with unusual decision: “Never. It is just the life I love. I have grandpa and tho horses. If I were obliged to live in the city I tirmly believe I would lose my mind. But of course you can’t understand such perverted taste. You think New Y'ork heaven.” “The next thing to it,” was the imperturbable answer. “If olio could only have all the money ono could spend.” “Most people -don’t know when they have enough, ” returned the wise Mary. “The more they have the more they want. What is money, anyway? If I have enough to eat and a horse to ride lam satisfied. I don’t care for dressing —not a snap of my linger. I could have as nice dresses as most girls, if I wished for them, but I don’t, and I haven’t met the man or woman yet whom I would take the least trouble for. Now lam going to join grandpa. I see him in the walk over thex - e. You may do a 3 you please.” “Thanks,” said Jack, gravely, rising to his feet; “then I have an ungracious permission to fellow you? Won’t you try to treat me a little more kindly? Make an effort, as Mrs. Chick would say. By-ihe-way, you are not acquainted with Mrs. Chick." “No. I think I should change my name were I in her place “Do you dislike it? To me it is pleasantly suggestive.” . “I dare say, since she is your friend.” “Now that you put it quite plainly, I believe that she is ray friend. I have sometimes considered the advisability of falling in love with her. ” “The love that stops to consider is scarcely worth haying,’’commented Mary. “I suppose Mys. Cilicia is a„ widow. I don’t admire widows; - Dyes she Jive in New York?” > . 1 This question-, put in all sincerity, was rather too much for Jack. Throwing back his head he'laughed uproariously. May watched him with growing' anger. “Why do you laugh?” she asked, as calmly as her feelings would allow. Jack’s only reply was another uncontrollable burst of mirth. “You are laughing at me!” she cried with blazing eyes. “How dare you laugh at me? Tell me, this instant, what I have said or done. Tell me, I say.” Her passion sobered Jack. “Please forgive me,” he said penitently. “I am not laughing at you. Bather at what you said. Not that, either—that is Pshaw! I’ll tell the truth. Mrs. Chick doesn’t really exist, you know. She is a character in one of Dickens’ novels,-and your " “Never mind explaining any more,” she interrupted, biting her lips fiercely. “I may as well tell you ‘now that I never read. I haven’t thf slightest idea who Dickens is, and no curiosity whatever on the subject.” “I hate him!” she cried fiercely to her own reflection in her mirror that night. “I do thoroughly hate him. He thinks me an ignorant little goose, and so I am. 1 never so truly despised myself. But he sha’n’t remind me of my shortcomings; indeed, he sha’n’t. I suppose he thinks I will take anything from him, because I am a country girl and know nothing of city ways qnd .manners. He shall find out his mistake. He sha’n’t patronize me. If it were not for grandpa, I’d make this place too hot to hold him.” With this conclusion she walked to the window, and, looking down upon the line of light from the library window, once more began her self-comments. “Just as I thought. They are together. 2 wonder if grandpa by any possibility could grow to like him better thaD me. If I thought that, I—would hate him in earnest.” She compressed her lips tightly, and leaving the window, she paused in the center of the room with (ti l air of irresolution. Then, growing suddenly determined, she thrust her bare feet into a pair of well-worn slippers, and made her way down a narrow back stairway into the the room where Jeannette was making preparations for bed. “Mercy, 1 save us,” cried the somewhat startled woman, as the flying figure burst rather precipitately' upon her. “You’ve nearly frightened the wits out of me, Miss Mary. Why ain’t you asleep?” “Because I’m too much awake. I want to talk.” Jeannette sighed audibly. For her to go to bed under present circumstances, was out of the question. “You see I grow tired of talking to myself," explained, Mary, seating herself on the bed and dangling.her feet from side to side. “80 I decided to come down and have a chat with you. Do you say you are not sleepy?” “There’d be no use saying I was,” was the answer, with commendable resignation. “True,” returned Mary with a reflective air. “How long;has Mr. Beverly been here, Jeannette?” “Mr. Beverly,” repeated Jeannette, surprised at the unlooked-for question. “A week, I believe. No, more than a week. Ten days.” “Ten days. That all? It seems more like a month! Don’t you think he has considerable —assurance? ” “Assurance, Miss Mary? I don’t know what you mean. I’m. sqre I never met a pleasanter young man.”: “Oh, indeed. I see how It Is. He has gotten around you, just as he has around dear, innocent, unsuspecting grandpa. I dare say you’d both go down on your knees and thank heaven for the privilege of worshiping this superior individual. It is certainly strange how some people can be imposed upon. Thank gracious, my eyes are open.” “Dear me,” commented Jeannette, as she gave Mary a rather curious glance. “No; he can’t deceive me,” pursued Mary, dangling her feet, with a rapidity .that kept time with her thoughts. “I thoroughly detest him. He is always making me angry. And then lam rude, and grandpa is ashamed. He forever puts himself where he isn’t wanted and expects me to dance attendance on him. He’e eternally bringing up his horrible, noisy, dirty New York, as though that were the only vleoe in creation, and the women there toe only onea who know

anything. I call that assurance. Inde.d it is more than assurance. It is impudence." “Pooh," commented Jeannette, with • some contempt. “Don’t pooh me, Jeannette; I hate It. Y T ou know nothing about it. You don’t know about Mrs. Chick and all the other abominable women he’s always bringing up, just to have me ask about them, and show what an ignoramus I am. I can’t imagine why you or grandpa did not make me read wh n I was young." “It was as much as mortal could do to make you learn your letters. That wore me teiTible.” “I wish,” continued Mary, undisturbed by this explanation, “I wish I knew every took by heart, good and bad alike. Wouldn't I make his hair sfltod on end with some of my quotations. It is well enough for you to look horrified. I don’t care to shock you, but I do literally pine to shock him.” “You are doing .it. Miss; you are doing it fast" enough. I know your grandpa’d bo ashamed enough to hear ycu talk, and I know I’m ashamed the way you treat Mr. Beverly. Having him after them chickens every morning, in ali that mess, spoiling his shoes and his clothes and ” There was an irrepressible burst of merriment from the listening Mary. “If you had been there this morning,” was her only reply to this reproof, “actually, you would have laughed yourself into hysterics. He ran after an old hen and had such a tumble. ” “I seen it,” was the severe reply, “that good-for-nothing thing that ain’t laid an egg this week.” "The very one. She can run, though. He kept screaming that he had caught her, when he really had only a handful of feathers from her tail, and she was out of sight before he could get on his feet.” Mary gave way to another burst of merriment at this remembrance. Jeannette regarded her with a reproving air. “I'm ashamed to see you laugh over such a thing, Miss Mary. A gentleman like him ” “I must have laughed, if it had happened to myself," answered Mary, “and as f'OT him—look here, Jeannette”—she broke off abruptly, skipping from the bed and standing before Jeannette, with a proud air—“can it be possible that you think him better than we are? Because he isn’t. Let me tell you, Ido not consider him my superioj- by any means, and, as for grandpa, his equal lias not been created yet. What is your opinion now?” “My opinion Is, you’d better go to bed, instead of sitting here, talking a pack of nonsense. If you go pn as you’ve been doing, I don’t knqw what Mr. Beverly will think of you. ” “And I don’t care,” rejoined Mary, sharply. “I dare say he doesn’t trouble himself to think of me at all. ” “Most likely not,” was the provoking reply. “He has too many other-girls to think of, let alone you.” “Of course he has. Didn’t I make the same remark a second ago? There’s no necessity for you to repeat it—none at all: I can’t imagine what has put you in such a disagreeable humor. Do sleep it off, for mercy’s sake.” The conclusion of this speech was lost in the noise of the door, which Mary closed with a bang after her. “How provoking Jeannette can, be sometimes!” she soliloquized, hastening along the hall. “I’m afraid her supper disagreed with her.’’ “Whose supper?” inquired a voice from the surrounding darkness. “You,” cried Mary, facing Jack. “What a faculty you have for putting yourself where you are not wanted! ” “Come, Miss Mary, that is very severe. I am going to my room, and there Is no other way, I believe. I overheard your remark. If it is a case of indigestion I have an infallible cure. ” “It is not a case of indigestion—merely a case of being disagreeable.” “Oh. Then I suppose Jeannette Is tho offender. What did she say or do?” “Nothing that,eoncerns you.” “Are you positive of that?” he askeef, trying to see the outlines of her face In the shadow. “I thought possibly my name had been mentioned.” Mary’s face grew warm, but she managed to answer calmly: “We have other subjects of conversation besides you. Good-night, sir." “Good-night, madame.” “Sometimes I wish I were one of the leaders of society,” she cried, throwing herself upon a chair in her own room.

CHAPTER VI. Several mornings later Jack came down expecting to tnke his usual ride with Mary. He found her standing before the stable door, looking slightly disconsolate. “I’m not going to ride this morning,” she called out, when he was some yards off. “Not ride?” he repeated, directing an inquiring glance at her habit. “I dressed to go as usual,” was the response, “and now I discover that Toby took,my saddle to be fixed yesterday, and forgot to get it last night. There’s no other side saddle, and so ” “You can’t go. Too bad,” said Jack. “Never mind, we’ll have a walk instead.” “HoW easily you ’take it,” she answered. “It makes me angry to see people take a disappointment easily. I get raving when I can’t have what I want. You may take a walk if you wish, but I sha’n’t. I intend to go to my room to stay there until breakfast time." “I wish you would change your mind and be more agreeable.” “I can’t, really. When I am disappointed I like to be as disagreeable as possible.” ' “Still you might make an effort,” he suggested with a half-suppressed smile. “You remember my friend, Mrs. Chick ’’ “Look here," she cried,turning sharply upon him, “if you do not wish to make me your everlasting enemy, never mention that abominable Mrs. Chick again. If I were in your place now I should ■ take a ride. If you do not, you’ll have to wander alone until breakfast time, for I positively won’t amuse you.” “I dare say there’s nothing better to do,” commented-Jack, “considering it is just six now. Heavens, what an unearthly hourito'get lip.” “He is going,” mused Mary turning when she had reached the front door, to see him in the act of mounting his horse. “What a piece of good fortune. I’ll just wait to see which road ho takes, and then I’ll have my ride, side saddle or no side saddle.” Two minutes later she was quite satisfied on the desired point,and hastening to the stable she rather surprised Toby by asking him to saddle Prince immediately. “But, Miss Mary ” expostulated the old man. “I know,” she put In with a quick frown. “Beggars can not be choosers. I’ll manage with a man’s saddle this morning. I dare say I -Won’t tumble off. You needn’t speak about it, Toby. Explanations are always tiresome. Is Prince ready? All right, I’m off then. Don\ forget about keeping quiet, like a dear man Oh, 11l be careful; this la

1 * • ■ • ~ ;. ; . really quite line. Well, Prlnoe, my boy, - she added to her horse, "we aha’n’t follow Maje, shall we? And I think you will have to. go a little more carefully than usual, else I may find myself on my head in the road there, with something broken in the bargain. This seat Isn’t the steadiest In creation, or the, most comfortable either. Be&lly It is too bad of Toby to be so forgetful. A little slower, Prince, please. ” Prince appeared to understand, and settled down into an easy canter. But Mary still continued to shift unoasily in her saddle and to make frequent remarks upon its unpleasant qualities. “It is no use, Prince,” she said at last, coming to a standstill after about ten minutes’ riding. “I must either sit on this saddle the proper way or give up riding altogether. I’d like to be a man for about two hours. I will, too, as far as I can. Prince, you don’t see anyone in sight, do you? Neither do I. And there isn’t likely to be, either, on this road. 80 here is for comfort, if not safety, and a good, l.ng gallop.” No sooner had the words passed hor lips, than with a dexterous motion she slipped into the only position intended for the saddle she used. Quite satisfied with this change, she gave Prince the rein and galloped off, serenely unconscious that there had been a silent spectator of her unusual performance. ' Jack had followed the road he had first taken for some little distance, when he came to a broad pathway through a woods. “Wagons have been over this, why not a horse?” he soliloquized. “I’ll try, anyway. It looks promising.” He did try .It, penetrating for some distance through the fresh, eool depths. Presently he came to a clearing, from which the view was unusually fine.. In a seoond he was off his horse, taking a rough sketch of the landscape before him. It was while engaged In this occupation that he heard the sound of an approaching horse, and looking out from the trees, which effectually screened him, he recognized Mary. After her declaration that she could notride, he was slightly surprised, and wisely decided not to let her know of his presence. The next moment her change of position converted his surprise into consternation, and, scarcely able to credit the testimony of his eyes* his glance followed her down the road. “Heavens, what a girl!” he soliloquized, as a vent for his feelings. “She beats anything I ever came across. I wonder what her grandfather would say to see such an exhibition as that. Wouldn’t she lead any poor ohaperon a dance? She believes herself unobserved, and I wouldn’t dare to enlighten her." He endeavored to look unconsolous when he met her in the dining-room an hour later. Fortunately, perhaps, there was no opportunity for conversation before Mr. Millard joined them. [to be continued.l