Evening Republican, Volume 14, Number 27, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 1 February 1910 — JOYCE. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

JOYCE.

It was really most annoying. I searched through my pockets again, but was still unsuccessful In finding any money. To make matters worse, the only other passenger In the ’bus was that pretty girl I had often seen coming out of The Lindens. How absurd I should look when the conductor same In and demanded the fare. Suddenly a bright idea occurred to me. I leaned forward. "Er—pardon me ■: — er addressing you, but you see—er —your face Is familiar to me, and—er— ’’’ I paused lamely. My fair companion stared at me. "You live at The Lindens.. I have asen you going in aud coming out sev•ral times,” I said, "and I thought I would risk speaking to you, for you can help me out of a great difficulty. Will you lend me twopence?” My companion stared at me uneasily for a moment or two, and then she burst into a peal of delicious laughter. "It must be a great difficulty If twopence is necessary to remove It,” she said presently in grave tones. * Then, of course, I explained my absurd position, renewing my apologies for speaking to her as I had done. “Of course, I shall be glad- to be of assistance to you,” she said, “although it is only In a very small way.” "It is awfully kind of you,” I said; "I will repay the debt this evening.” "Oh, please no,” she entreated. "It’s only twopence; please don’t trouble

about It. But I get out here—good morning to you.” • * * * * • It was a long time since I had taken ao much trouble with my toilet as I did that evening, but at length I was satisfied, and I sallied forth to call at The Lindens. I had previously taken the opportunity to look up the directory, and found the name against The Lindens was Denison. ‘‘l want to see Miss Denison, please," I said to the pleasant-faced housekeeper who answered my ring. “Yes, sir; will you come inside?” she replied. “What name shall I give?” "Gilbert Bralthwaite,” I said, and then I added, “you had better tell her I have called to pay a debt.” “Yes, sir,” Shortly afterward the door Opened and an elderly lady with very decided features entered the room. "You wish to see me?” she said. “Er—no!” J stammered. "I wanted to see Miss Denison." “I am Miss Denison,” the prim lady replied. “What debt is it you talk about? I owe no man anything, neither does any man owe me.” "There is some slight error,” I said quickly. Then a bright idea struck me. “You have a younger sister, perchance!” I suggested. “Dinner is served, miss,” suddently came a familiar voice from the doorwt 11 f , 1 dropped my umbrella and hat and Jumped to my feet There, framed in the doorway, stood my benefactress, attired in the black and white costume of a maid. "Um—ah!” I remarked, blinking like an owl, - ~ ~ “Oh!” she replied, blushing furiously. 'TV Miss Denison stared from me to the other.

“Joyce,” she said, “you may retire.”^ “But I wish to speak to that—er — young lady,” I cried. “I owe her twopence." I was conscious that my remark sounded ridiculous, but it was the truth. However, Miss. Denison cut me shdft. “I do not allow my maid to have any followers,” she said in dignified tones, ■ . .• I dined alone at my favorite Soho restaurant, and then made my way back to my chambers to enjoy a solitary pipe. All the while I was thinking of Joyce. . “Serving maid or queen!” I cried, Joyously. "I will woo her!" After' Borne thought, I decided to commence my campaign with a letter. I posted the letter on the following morning. But the days went by and no answer came to my letter. I took to hauntlpg the neighborhood of The Lindens every evening, but never once did I set eyes on sJoyce again. 1 received my letter back from the postoffice marked, “Gone, no address.” • • • • I will not go into the details of the following weeks. I put the matter into the hands of a private inquiry agent. He said he had personally Interviewed the keeper of every registry office in London, but with no result.

That summer we were particularly busy, and toward the autumn I decided to spend a month by the sea and combine business with pleasure. I chose Littlebourne and took with me a large pile of manuscripts to read. I discovered a retired nook in % the midst of some rocks half a mile beyond the end of the front, and here I spent most afternoons, wading through the MSS. One afternoon, when I was exceedingly bored, I suddenly became conscious that a girl was seated on some rocks about five yards away from me. “Surely,” I said to myself. “I kaow that figure.” In another moment the blissful revelation came to me. It was Joyce, “Miss Joyce,” I cried. “You?” she murmured, blushing visibly. “At last I have found you,” I said. “Do you know, I have been searching everywhere I could think of for you.” For a few seconds we stared at each other, and m'another moment we were both laughing heartily. "It is queer that wfc should meet down here like this. Are you holidaymaking?” “Yes,” I replied; “and your “Oh, I am in a situation down here

now.” v "Whereabouts?" I asked. "I’m afrhid i «axhT~tell yos. l> she answered.' “No. I suppose not,” I muttered, “it was through me you lost your last situation:" - ———— “Oh. that didn’t matter,” she said. “I was going to leave shortly." “Now look/ here, we’ll make a bargain," I cried. “I won’t try to And out where you are now employed if yon will promise to meet me occasionally.”

"Oh, but you are a gentleman and I am only a parlor maid. We are too far apart to be friends.’-: “Not at all.” I cried. “What do petty distinctions like that matter?" • • • * I am not going to recite the details of our excursion on the following day. This was but the first of several and in this manner a fortnight passed rapidly away. I must confess that my work suffered, but I did not trouble about that. I tried to make up for it by slamming into my reading when I did not see Joyce. She manifested Interest in my work and I often told her of the stuff I was reading. One afternoon we rambled away along the cliffs. “I ran through 80,000 words this morning,” I said. “It was a novel, and its title was Vanity.” “Yes,” she replied. “Was it any good?" “Not the slightest,” I replied. “What was the author’s name?" she asked. “Arthur Lester,” I replied. There was silence for a few minutes. Suddenly looking' up, I saw-my companion’s eyes were filled with tears. “Joyce!” I cried, anxiously. "Joyce, what is the matter?” “Oh, nothing much,” she murmured brokenly. “There is a greal deal the matter,” I said. “Tell me —what is it?” For a moment she hesitated, then her head dropped. “I-*-I am Arthur Lester,” she murmured. “Joyce,” I whispered. "Joyce, dear. I am so sorry. I had no idea." “I ought to have told you,” she murmured, though she did not draw herself away from mev “I thought it would be such a surprise for you, for I thought it would be accepted. Th*t was why I was a parlor maid. As you will remember, I described some old maids in my book, and in order to get an intimate knowledge of them I obtained a position at The Lindens. I am staying now with iqy aunt, who is an Invalid. That is the service I referred to that I am in down here.” ‘!How splendid of you!” I cried. "What you must have gone through for the sake of your book,” "But it wasn’t any good," she replied. I , “But it was some good.” I insisted, for otherwise we should never have come together.’! Once more her head drooped, but this time it -rested on my shoulder. Joyce was mine at last.—E. NewtonBungey in M. A. P.

"WHAT NAME SHALL 1 GIVE?”