Evening Republican, Volume 14, Number 24, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 28 January 1910 — DAZZLE OF GOLD. [ARTICLE]

DAZZLE OF GOLD.

Mr. Larry Qonton sat upon the Iron bench by tho monument of the great cavalry leader and gazed hungrily, yet awesomely, at Miss Katie Belle McNutt. There were green and pink blooming things all about him, and chirping birds hopped along the graveled walks—making all in all a beautiful, blithesome setting for the graven hero upon the roArlng Marble steed.

But Mr. Conlan ignored the'creeping chirping things, and the graven marble (thijjgs, with equal gloomy 1 llstleness. TKere was a tiny sliiv of green paper la the hand of Miss Kaiie McNutt that boded, more to young Lonlan than all your beauties of nature and all your records of the gulden deeds of heroes. The slip was marked ‘‘G 31768,” and it'was valued the Chen Yuen Chinese lottery at exactly SI,OOO. Miss McNutt, moved by a fortunate whim, had purchased the slip for a dollar, and now she was glad indeed.

Larry Conlan endeavored to persuade himself that he was also glad; for instance, he said to Katie Belle; “It’s a fine thing for you, Katie. You'll be a regular satin princess.” “Y e s, indeed!” nodded Mies Katie, joyously. “I guess people wiH pay attention after this.”

“Sure,” confirmed Larry Conlan. ‘T’m awful glad,” and he sighed like like a man sorely stricken. Miss Katie Belle McNutt* threw tiny pebbles at the impudent chits of birds that fussed about the iron bench. ‘ “I guess you’ll be buyin' a big green auto with goggleeves in front to whiz you around over the asphalt,” ventured Conlan, presently. “Yes, indeed,” said pretty Katie. “Won’t Maggie Joyce and the other girls stare!’ “And you’ll wear diamonds —big, blazy ones?” continued Larry. “Of course.” nodded Miss McNutt, loads and loads, like the lady we saw at the opera. Big, fleecy clouds had piled up, obscuring the sun and casting a gloom across the pretty park somewhat akin to the gloom that Larry Conlan could not keep out of his heart. When he turned again to the bronze-haired, tilt-nosed' little beauty, it showed In his blue eyes. “And the chaps, Katie,” he blurted, “the chaps what’ll be after you flow. High society flyers and counts beggin’ to sell you a dago title!” The girl’s gray eyes glistened and she put her gloved hand upon his wrist. “Do you suppose they will? Do you suppose the big bugs will want to marry me now?” Mr. Conlan who had nourished this desire through years, stared with a puzzled smile. “Of* course they would. Who wouldn’t, anyhow?” Miss McNutt shook her auburn head, for she could not answer. And there was a. little note In Larry’s that hurt her somehow. Then it was that he thrust upon her one of the Title crises that really count in life. “Katie,” he asked, looking full in her eyes, “if the Marquis of Italy or the Dook of England was to come askin’ you to get married, you’d marry ’em, wouldn’t you.’” Katie Belle McNutt gasped at the sudden prospect. “Why, Larry”—she began, but he pressed his question. “You’d marry ’em and be a female dook; now, wouldn’t you, Katie McNutt?”

The girl, fronted with- the odd pressing question, answered in confusion: “Why, Larry—you know—why of course—l’d like to be a sure enough high flyer—oh, Larry!” Mr. Larry Conlan arose. “Of course,” he nodded. “I don't blame you a bit Go along and buy automobiles and be (he queen of Spam and wear a ton oi dia'moncs hanging from each of you? pretty ears. It's natural for you to do it, Kate. But it lets me out —goodht.” He started away, so abruptly :hat the impudent birds were nea: ly trampled. “Oh, Larry!” gasped the,little lady of the brM.ch “Goodby," he repeated, and in two seconds was around the bend ir. the cedar-lined driveway, striving telling at that dread, old-world lesson of forgetfulness. He was striving in such determined bitterness that he did not hear the light, rapid patter on the gravel behind him; but he could not fail to hear the soft voice that called: “Oh, Larry—you know I wouldn’t, Larry!” He turned and kissed her, theugn No. 7M> of the metropolitan police looked cynically On. “You take the old ticket,” sobbed Katie. “I don’t want to be an empress.” Mr. Conlan smiled through his tears. “It’ll come in handy for bread pans and rocking chairs when the Conlans set up In a three-room front," he said, and kissed her again—Stuart B. Stone.