Democratic Sentinel, Volume 17, Number 35, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 15 September 1893 — JUNE AND ARTHUR. [ARTICLE]

JUNE AND ARTHUR.

Doubtless Jane Dobbins and Arthur Lathers thought that they were veiy clever when, in the first bloom of ynuDg love, they had a memorial photograph taken together with her Gentle head fondly resting on his gallant breast. There were to be only two impressions struck from the plate, and, oh! what a consolation each one would be for the awful hours of separation—an ever present sign of ineffable bliss! But they never fancied that the plate retained its reproductive powers, nor that it was destined to fall into the hands of the vengeful George Percy, and when they reckoned without George Percy they reckoned without a host. For tnis young man was romantic of temperament and ingenious of inind. From his earliest perception he had vowed that she should be his, and so in the heydew of his discretion, having seen her ruthlessly torn from his mental embrace through the diabolical arts of a hated rival, he swore that he would have his revenge. Of course he mußt dissemble—that was an essential Of the passion. Arthur and he had always been good comrades, and so they must continue. He must congratulate the happy pair with false words and a hollow smile. He must, and he did. But time was his friend, so avaunt despair! The loveis were young, and their complacent prents had declared that they must wait. Aha! Was he not man enough from the nettle Opportunity to pluck the flower Success? Only bring on thenettlel Meanwhile he would watch and wait. It was at the acme of this conviction that Arthur one evening in a flood of that crass confidence, which is half the pleasure of being in love, showed the picture to George. Alas, the blindness of fate! Among the mental ingenuities with which George was endowed was a very pretty taste for the natural sciences. ' Chemistry, through its facility in producing light from darkness, sound from silence and smell from scentlessness, had always appealed to his imaginative qualities. At school he had been allowed the-run of the laboratory— and sometimes a run from it—and there was nothing in the nature of smoke, stench or explosion which he had not generated. He went further in a day than Faraday did in his whole life, and as for Daguerre he could take care of Jffm without half thinking. Indeed, in time photography became a delightful avocation to him, and m mysteries were camerical not chimerical. fie had gaineda well Reserved reputataWoh as an amateur operator, and, it so happened, had long been in the habit of developing his work in the very gallery where the young lovers had so wantonly made right of their sacred emotions. And more, he was so engaging in manner and so generous in returning favors that he had the use of the establishment and came and went as if his will was a centurion, a latchkey being his guide by night. All of this Arthur well knew, and all of this he clean forgot in the selfish rapture of displaying his happiness.

But George remembered, and when he had carelessly read the maker’s name on the back of the photograph he could scarce restrain a start and the conventional chuckle of foreseen revenge. In a flash came an idea which gradually developed a full grown purpose. He could, he would, he did. He knew many a secret of the craft. Now was the time to call that knowledge to his aid. One night he searched and he found negatives of Susie Graham, a great friend of Arthur’s and of Robert Prince, an ardent admirer of Jane’s. With infinite care he prepared new plates, and lo! when he had developed these and taken their impressions there were two pictures, one of Arthur and Susie and the other of Robert and Jane, in the identical conjunction of affection in whioh it had seemed clever to Arthur and Jane to exploit their young love. “Aha!” hissed George with a half suppressed mirthless laugh as he pulled his hair over his brow and rolled his eyes, which shone with an infernal fire. “Aha! I have them on the hip, and I’ll fejd fat the ancient grudge I owe them.” And well he might laugh as one who laughed last. The following week the little Jane, while dreaming idly of her felicity, received ud anonymous package and wept The following week the ardent Arthur, while impatiently counting the days of his probation, received an anonymous package and swore. The next day two notes, pregnant with grief and resentment, crossed each other.

Faithless Abthcb—l return the ring and other presents. All is over. So never, never speak again to Jane. read one. Fickle Jake -Since yon no longer love me,I beg to herewith transmit vonr le'ters and the slippers yon sent me last Christmas 1 think they are just his size. I remain, yours indignantly, Abthcb. read the other. “How shameless!” sobbed Jane when she received the letter. “What nerve!” growled Arthur as he tore the former into bits. And thereafter the hearts that had beat as one throbbed most independently as two. Arthur was seen smoking on the street, and thus became a warning of dissipation . And George, who now called assiduously on Jane, found his anticipated joys almost as enlivening as a Quaker meeting, for the poor child was ylttm and distraught and too simple to hide it. Her cheeks grew wan, and tfM sparkle of her eye deadened into ■rlsseholy. Her parents became afjssssd, fearing a decline, and as tdbttnct is a remedy long since declared •ftwdaid, they decided to send her on • dd* to her Aunt Abigail in the meOwens hoard the tidings with coo«MMW. Was this the end of his iHwuunsryf Then he bad been deceived.

Heroines truly had the unpieasant habit of fading, but they always married the villain before acquiring it. Must he yield to remorse, to despair? No; at least he knew when she was going—at least he might receive her parting glance. So he hied to the station and entered the car where she sat listless and dejected. “Good-by, Jane,” he whispered. “Will you not write to me? You know how constant I’ve been, even when it was hopeless.” “I hate you!” said the girl, with a sudden burst of instinctive passion. And George sped to his room and butted his head against the wall—but not too violently, for it was but lath and plaster, and his landlord was unfeeliug—find vowed that of all sour things the sweets of revenge were the sourest. Thereby he dimly ]>erceived that treachery is a boomerang in unskillful hands. Meanwhile Arthur, having established recklessness, did not pursue it. He was energetic in business, and sorrow made him more so, thus requiting him with pecuniary damages. His employers sent him to the.west, where he was successful in his mission. This mission then took him to the metropolis, where he reassured its success and made himself famous. Misfortune is a s’ckening dose to swallow, hut onoe down it may change depression into exultation and tears into smiles.

But Arthur didn’t think so. It is easy to philosophize after the scar, but not after the wound is yet raw. He was very blue when leisure permitted his thoughts to be absorbed with self and grew fond of thrusting his hands deep in his pockets and moodily soliloquizing, “It was always so,” probably from a childish reminiscence of “that dear gazelle." One wintry afternoon during his stay in the metropolis, being especially misauthrophic and time dragging with him, Arthur got into an uptown stage, for its lumbering misery seemed commensurate to his humor. He ensconced himself in one of the further corners, and in each jolt and bump discovered similitude to the course of his existence. Passengers came and went, but he heeded them not. They went more than they came, until he was alone, alone with the straw, and the rattling glass, and the dangling straps. Then he likened himself to a prisoner in a tumbrel on the way to execution and became almost cheerful in the thought. Oh, if it were only true! He would send a lock of his hair dipped in his blood by one of the haughty minions, and then her stony heart would melt —that being a natural attribute of all stones. The stage stopped. A young lady entered and took a seat by the door. She extended her fare, and Arthur forgot himself sufficiently to take it. As he did so he gasped, and well he might, for it was Jane’s little hand that he touched —his Jane, alas, his no longer 1 What was she doing alone in the great city? Could 6he be lost, or wandering from a disorder of reason? Could she have recognized him from a distance and followed through the throng? No, she seemed composed and at ease—indeed far too much so. She evidently had not notioed him, for her eyes were dumrely cast down. She had not, and she should not. Arthur drew his hat over his brow, but not so low as to prevent him from glancing askance, in which he found a proper though melancholy pride, and shrank back in his corner as much as the vibrations would permit. Oh, how pretty, how sweet she looked! Was it possible that one so fair could ho so false? Yet were not these terms correlative, and was not seeing believing? Had he not the damning proof in his inside pocket, gnawing away his vitals like 9 Spartan boy’s fox? But yet she was so pretty, so sweet! Bid Ever ooquette possess such a pure face, such a maidenly mien? Yet she had allowed her picture to be taken with Robert Prince in that very position which their troth had sanctified, and who knew but that half the young men of their native town had similar trophies] Oh, yes, she was so pretty, so sweet, but beauty was only skin deep. Alas! Arthur found only faint consolation in the saying, for he realized that, like Mercutio’s wound, it was quite deep enough for him. Arthur sighed so fervently that he must have attracted notice, but at this instant the stage lurched aud fell to one side. There was a scream, a shout, and for a moment the separated lovers were 'as thoroughly mixed up os their unfortunate affairs were, for one of the hind wheels of the vehicle hod come off and rolled away as if disgusted with lack of patronage and about to set up business on its own account. The attraction of the accident was speedily overcome by the repulsion of recognition. ‘•Mr. Lathers!” cried Jane, and bounded on the uppermost seat like a chamois.

“ Miss Dobbins! ” growled Arthur, making a dive for the door. • But it was jammed. Push aud strain as he might, he could not budge it. The only result of his exertion was a very red face, whose glow Jane seemed to catch and faintly refleot. He tried a window, but as he felt as much like a camel os it looked like a needle’s eye he soon desisted, and sinking into the lower corner,which gave him the sensation of being caught in a cfeasm, he abandoned himself to Wcrtherlike despair. The driver now leisurely descended and stood at one side, proud in the faith that his horses required no attention from him, as they yet had sufficient strength to stand alone.

“Yez ’ull hev to stay in until yez gits out,” he said consolingly. “But I’ll not be after chargin.yez dooble.” By this time a crowd had collected and began, after the fashion of crowds, to theorize regarding the aocident. Some maintained that it was of no moment since the stage would go as comfortably on three wheels ns it had on four. Others that the imprisoned passengers were lucky in their condnement, since if it was protracted there would be no lack of fare. A messenger boy in a piping voice volunteered to run for a doctor and provoked incredulous laughter at the likelihood of his running. Thb gave Arthur a chance to display his magnanimity. “Stand back,” he shouted, “and give the lady air.’’ As if a stage ever wauted for this essential except in warm weather! But the throng, impressed by his vehemence, withdrew to the sidewalk, and stamped feet and chafed ears as if. like the Roman sentinels at Pompeii, they could’nt desert their posts—i. e., lampposts. “Thank you, Mr. Lathers,” said Jane io tones akin to the tip of her nose. “There was a time when you wouldn’t havesaid ‘Mr. Lathers,”’ replied Arthur. “ Yes, and not an hour ago.” “You knew me then?” “I saw you, I didn’t recospize you.” *’And yet my heart is the same as of yore. .“Toward Susie? Yes? How interesting!” “What am I to Susie, or Susie to me—l. who am maligned, bereft, discarded I”

“You should feel at ease now, Mr. Lathers.” “And why now, pray ?” “On the stage, you know. You are suoh an actor. ” "At least I haven’t the craze for indiscriminate picture-taking. That seems to be a feminine characteristic.” “You haven’t? To think that any oamera could have twice sustained the shock of that smirk 1 Oh, ic is too ridiculous!” “I don’t know what you mean.” “Oh, you do not?” “Pray, Miss Dobbins, in this enforced association, which no one could regret more than I, let us not yield to idle recrimination. The past is dead; let the dead bury it. I shill await our deliverance with resignation, and then hid you godspeed.” “Some sort of speed would be acceptable. But‘resignation?’ If that posture is your idea of resignation, I’d rather look uncomfortable.” •‘You have your wish. How is the view' up there?" “I can see a man in a well with the rope dangling just out of reach." “Yes; he has escaped the noose." "That is flattery lor a contemptuous rejection.”

"Miss Dobbins, permit me as an old family friend who has your best interests at heart to warn you to be more discreet. Our town is such a small place, and the young men are not sufficiently cultured to abstain from boastings. It is pleasant undoubtedly to have one’s picture taken with one’s best young man of the present. I know in my case you seem to be delighted, but when these photographs multiply and begin to circulate like—like—er—comic valentine” "Mr. Lathers!” “Hello!" cried Arthur as he suddenly bent forward. “Ah!" screamed Jane as she dropped from her perch at the same instant. Two heads then bumped as one. They recoiled, but again plunged forward, for each had seen half concealed in the straw a photograph which each had prized, hut which the shock of the accident must have separated from their possession. “That's mine,” asserted Jane. “That’s mine,” protested Arthur. both having succeeded, Jane climbed triumphant to her eyrie; Arthur sank victorious into his chasm. There was a sudden movement forward and a hurrah from the crowd, for the lovers, gazing into each other’s eyes, saw doubt change into faith, and aversion into devotion. “It must have been that confounded George Percy,” exclaimed Arthur. . “ Forgive me, darling,” sobbed Jane. And they were infolded in a fond and ingenuous embrace. No wonder the crowd surged and shouted. The streets of the metropolis are prolific of dramas indeed, but idyls are as scarce as daisies between the granite blocks. ‘Cheer succeeded cheer, and when the messenger boy piped his intention of running for the parson the cheers grew more enthusiastic, and no incredulous laughter opposed. “I’ll retaliate on that Percy,” said Arthur, "if it takes a lifetime?” “No, dear. Revenge pays its own debts. What has George accomplished except to make our faith in each other more assured?” “You are right. You are always right. He will find it impossible to cou iterfeit the home pictures which I can forsee. Let him have the past of trickery. The future is ours, darling, for weal or woo.” “From ‘wheel and. whoa,’” replied Jane, roguishly, with a suggestion of their accident.—[Chicago Times.