Democratic Sentinel, Volume 16, Number 12, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 8 April 1892 — Pair of Jacks. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

Pair of Jacks.

BYLVIV Jamisgn.

CHAPTER ATl—Continued. Contrary to this devout wish, Beverly was. again disturbed a few mornings later by a, somewhat timid knock at his door. “Who’s there?” he called, not with the best grace in the world. “Me, sir,” came ungrammatically from his landlady. “Will you be kind enough to wait a few moments, Mrs. Shrimp? I am not yet dressed." . “I’m sorry, sir. Don’t wish to interfere with your arrangements for dressing. But there’s a man down stairs, and there .ain't no getting clear of him. Says he’s in a hurry, and wants to see you, sir. I couldn’t get him to state his business.” “I commend his good sense in that particular,” muttered Beverly, sotto voce. “Just send him up, Mrs, Shrimp, and mildly inform him that this is not a fashionable calling hour. I’d be forever grateful if that woman would get a decent pair of shoes,” he continued, as the sound of Mrs. Shrimp's slipshod feet echoed d9wn the hall. After a few moments they returned, accompanied by a firm, heavy tread. Beverly had gotten coat, and smoothed his hair into fjmething like order, and, thus arrayed, ho opened the door to his unexpected guest. If his intellect shines as brilliantly as his trousers, he thought, with a glanco at his portly visitor, “he is certainly an accomplished old gentleman. “I believe I have not the pleasure of your acquaintance,” he added aloud, closing the door. “You will find my name there, sir.” “Ah! Mr. James Cox, solicitor,” read Beverly from the somewhat crumpled card. “You are in good company, Mr. James Cox. I am a solicitor, too. A pair of rogues together, as it were. Excuse my spirits, please. Force of association, no doubt. The case before the court is Business vs. Pleasure. T don’t know your opinion, but my verdict is in favor of the plaintiff. Curiosity is a quality, which, in our profession, at least, frequently loads to great results. By all means, -then, let mine be gratified. Have I your permission to continue my toilet? I can listen with earnest attention, I assure you.” “My business is soon stated,” was the quiet reply. “Asa member of the bar, let me hope you will the more readily agree to an amicable settlement of our difficulty. May I sit down?” “By all means. Difficulty, you say? Is it possible that But no fnatter. Sit down, I beg. Take your choice of chairs. That one by you has a weak back but a stoady bottom, I believe. That old rocker there, looks innocent and comfortable. Don’t trust it. This thing is ornamental, but apt to lose a leg on slight provocation. Perhaps the bed’s the safest. Once more excuse my spirits. So delighted to have you with me.” Mr. Cox regarded Beverly with a slightly dubious air. Such lightness was not, in his estimation, in keeping with legal dignity. “I- am not here to trifle, sir,” was his reply, as with some hesitation he took possession of the steady-bottomed chair, sitting bolt upright as a precaution against its weak back. “I am here,” he continued, in the same dignified tones, “on behalf of my client, Mr. Bailly, whose bill you ” “That bill again,” groaned Beverly, pausing in the tying of his cravat. “What under heaven possesses the man to keep at me in this way? I never bought a pin’s worth from him in my life, and I certainly will not pay what I do not owe. Charity begins at home, and I have no money to throw away, I I assure you. You may tell Mr. Bailly so.”

Mr. Cox appeared slightly surprised. “I don’t understand your denial of this claim. Mr. Bailly declares that he himself measured you for the articles mentioned, and that you offered to settle at the time, but .that he, in view of your standing and prospects generally, preferred to keep the account open.” “Mr. Bailly is mistaken, and under the circumstance, I refuse to pay this bill. Good morning, sir.” Mr. Cox frowned at this cold dismissal. “If this is your last words,” he said quite calmly, “I have.to inform you that my client will not receive it. He is not anxious to be involved in the trouble and expense of a lawsuit. Yet, if other means fail, he will not hesitate at extreme measures. Good morning, sir.” “Good morning, and good riddance,” added Beverly, under his breath. “Nothing but a swindling outrage,” he continued, when his visitor had departed. “Of course, Mr. Bailly cannot get this S6O out of me, but he can give me no end of trouble, just at this particular time too, when I want to be free and easy. Upon the whole, it will bo bettter to call upon him personally. Perhaps I shall get to the bottom of this business.” The same afternoon saw him in confidential conversation with Mr. Bailly. “I cannot understand the mistake,” that gentleman was saying. “The Mr. Beverly I have in my mind is about your size, though different in general appearance. He left his order last April, and it being the first time he had patronized my house, I was anxious to do my best. Several weeks after he dropped me a card with his address, and the information that he would be out of town for a month or so. Under the circumstances, your answer to my letter decidedly puzzled me. I felt there might be. something behind it, and for that reason I sent Mr. Cox to you. I regret having given you this annoyance and trouble, and I really don’t know what to make of the matter. Beverly was also puzzled. “The man tells the truth,” he reflected. “Not the slightest doubt of that. But what of this other Jack Beverly? Does he really exist, or has some clever scoundrel imposed on Mr. Bailly? I should like to get at the bottom of the "whole thing. And, by-the-way, those letters might possibly be explained. ’Pen my word, there’s some mystery here. I wonder if I’m the man the Millards take me to be. Positively I don’t know, and I don’t believe I’ll try to find out at this stage of the proceedings.” CHAPTEK VIII. “Grandpa, you have not admired my new hat. I have been here five minutes, and you have not noticed it.” “Haven’t I, my dear? I find the face beneath it so much prettier that I must spend all my time on that.” “Oh, grandpa, what a flatterer you are!” Mary’s arms were about the old gentleman’s neck, and a bear-like hug was the recompense for his compliment. “But to return to my hat, because I

must be going in a minute. Do you like it?” “Very much. Is it your selection?” He pretended to -examine it critically. “No; I really had nothing to do with it. Jeannette took upon herself to buy it; and what do you suppose she did with my old one?" “I really cannot protend to guess.” “Well, she burned it; actually put it in the kitchen stove. I was so mad. I did not care for the old thing, but her impudence was more than I could stand. ” “She thought it had outlived its usefulness, Mary. Certainly this one is an improvement. Where are you off to now?” “To drive with Mr. Beverly. I should have been ready a half hour ago, but life’s too short to hurry.” “Better late than never,” Jack when Mary found him two minutes later. “I’ve boen pjactieing patience for the last quarter of an hour. “A good thing to prifctice,” commented Mary, as they drove oT. “What did you think about while you waited?” “Well, I thought it Jbout time for me to be leaving, for one thing. I’ve staid an unconscionable tipe. Do you want me to go?” “What a strange question. Do you doubt grandpa’s sincedty?” “By no means. I wish I were equally sure of your feqjings.” “I have no feelings to be sure of,” she rejoined, with some haste, and the consciousness of a new jtrange sensation at her heart. “I fear Frank has proved himself a poor student of human nature. May I tell you what he said of you?” “You may, but I shall not feel greatly interested, as I have riot the slightest idea who Frank is. ” “Not know who Fran* is,” he repeated, turning a surprised loot upon her. “Of course you do.” “Of couse I don’t.” “But you must,” insisted Jack. “You’ve forgotten him. He’s a fine fellow, but rather light. He likes you immensely, and admires Mr. Millard more than any man he knowi, he told me.” “Does he? He is an appreciative youth. I begin to like him,” “Then please watch this growing attachment, or I shall become jealous. There’s a fine view, but to appreciate it, we should be out of this carriage.” “Lot us get out then. I’m tired of sitting, anyway. Aren’t you?” “Slightly. You never tire of sitting on a horse, though. Do you? Who taught you to ride, Miss May?” “Toby. When I was a baby he used to take me to the fields and tie mo on the horse’s back. I loved it even then.” “I certainly congratulate your teacher. Ho should go to New York and go in the business. ” “You forgei his style is not New York style.” “True, we must consult fashion and not taste.”

“I don’t see why. I have no respect for peoplo who think only of fashion. Besides, I don’t like the New York style of riding. I prefer even mine.” “Do you?” he asked quizzically, and then with a daring he regretted immediately, he added, “Which style? You know you have two.” “Which?” she repeated, unable for one brief second to comprehend his meaning. “Ah,” she added, with lips quivering, and eyes filled with passionate reproach, “You are generous.” “I am a brute,” ho answers 1 penitently. “Forgive me, Mary, lam so sorry.” He approached her as he spoke, but with a gesture of abhorence she moved away from him. “Don’t come near me,” she cried in a half smothered voice. “Don’t dare to come near me. I won’t believe you are sorry. You—you are only too glad to pain and embarrass me. You Don’t interrupt me; I will have my say. You talk to me as you wouldn’t dare to talk to those other girls you think so much of. They are not a bit better than I am—not one bit. I hate every one of them. I hate you, too. I hate you so much it almost suffocates me.” And as if to verify her words Mary sat flat on the grass and gave way to an angry burst.of weeping. “Mary,” pleaded Jack, somewhat unsteadily, “you are making me feel awfully bad." “I wish I could make you feel a thousand times worse,” she returned indignantly, dashing the tears from her eyes. “I am a little fool to care. I don’t care for what you said, but it is because you dared to say it that I feel ready to kill you.” « “Mary ” he began again. “Don’t call me Mary,” she interrupted with passionate-emphasis. “I will never be Mary to you.” “I have hoped to call you by a dearer name,” he answered in a voice whose tenderness thrilled her, despite her determination not to be moved.

He came closer to her, and took one of her trembling hands. She snatched it quickly away. “I told you not to touch me,” she said, but her voice was not as firm as she tried to make it. Evidently Jack found some slight encouragement in this fact, for he did not retire immediately. “You are not fair to me,” he said, in some reproach. “I wish you could see the state of my mind.” “It was so ungenerous of you,” was her rather weak rejoinder, as she turned her face aside. “It was, indeed,” he agreed, getting hold of her hand for the .second time and managing to retain hie advantage. “It is so cold,” he continued, referring to the hand, which he proceeded to stroke tenderly. “I wonder which is dearer to you, Mary, my love or your pride? Do you know that while you have been imagining my desperate admiration for those city girls, I have all the while been thinking of a little country girl infinitely more lovely and lovable.” "It is hard to believe,” she protested, feeling her anger melt before Jack’s pleasant way o£ expressing his sentiments, “and I do wish you would forget that dreadful thing. I know I should rather die than do it again. Don’t look at me, please.” '“I can’t help it, Mary. So you don’t take to unladylike actions naturally,' do you?” And Jaek, growing momentarily bolder, slipped his arffi about Mary’s waist, and despite her resistance lifted her blushirig face to view. "Haven’t you a word to say to me, darling?” “I don’t know what to say,” she returned in a slightly smothered voice. “You might say ‘Jack, I love you,’ ” he ■suggested. “Well, I do,” was thelow, half-audible answer. “Oh, Mary,” he cried, drawing her into a long, tender embrace, “I have ail I desire.” Twenty minutes later Mary’s healthy appetite begau to assert itself, and with sudden remembrance the two lovers remembered Maje and the waiting carriage. The independent Maje, however, growing tired of a performance in which he played so unimportant a part, had unceremoniously departed for home, taking tho carriage with him. ‘The old reprobate,” said Jack, as they

set out upon their two-mil* walk “t should like to thrash him.” CHAPTER IX. All next day Mary felt really lonely. Jack had gone to New York by an early train on what he called a matter of business, and she did not expect him to return before the next day. Meantime she decidedly missed him, though the suggestion of such a possibility would have been rejected with scorn a few days before. Now it came to her quite suddenly, and with an intensity that was equal pain and pleasure, all that Jack had become to her. A dozen timos during the night she had started with a sweet thrill of pleas-, ure, to find herself thinking of him. In a brief space the whole complexion of her life appeared changed. Her horizons grew broader; new hopes and ambitions came to fill her heart. Jack’s wife might have many things to learn, she told her; self, but she should not be found wanting. She had not confided her secret to her grandfather yet, though she know he would be so pleased to hear it. She had determined to wait until Jack should return and they could tell him together. In the meanwhile .sho would hug it to her own heart with the happy sense of sole proprietorship. Several times, however, in spite of her she was on the point of breaking out with her news, but she managed to control herself in time, and without awaking the suspicions of her grandfather or tho more observing Jeannette. After dinner, feeling the necessity for active employment, she started for a walk. It was a cool afternoon, and she moved along briskly, her busy mind quite heedless of her surroundings, until after a long time she glanoed up with a decided start. “What a walk I’ve had,” she said in surprise. “I do believe I can see Weston, and I am positive that is Mrs. Thomson’s cottage just ahead. I think I must go in and ask for a glass of milk. I wonder if she’ll remember me? A few steps brought Mary to the little gate, which she opened, and passing up the narrow walk she knocked, half timidly, upon the unpretentious door. “Don’t you know me, Mrs. Thomson?” she asked, with a bright smile, of the pleasant-faced woman who answered her summons. “Know you?” repeated the woman, with some hesitation; then with ready recognition she added; “To be sure I do, Miss Mary, though I ain’t seen you in an age. Come in, miss, and rest. You must be tired with walking.” “Only a little. I had no idea of coming so far when I started. Indeed, I was quite surprised when I found myself so near your house. But under the circumstances I thought I’d come in for a chat, and —well, I must tell the truth — a glass of milk.” “You shall have one right off,” responded the hospitable Mrs. Thomson, as Mary made her laughing admission. “I have some gingerbread, too,” she added. “Baked this morning. Would you like ” “Oh, wouldn’t I,” responded Mary enthusiastically. “You know my weakness, Mrs. Thomson.” [TO-BE CONTINUED.]