Evening Republican, Volume 14, Number 39, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 15 February 1910 — Tom Wentworth [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

Tom Wentworth

Tom Wentworth was angry and indignant. He had arisen one morning, & wet, cold, disagreable morning, with an indistinct recollection of something unpleasant which had occurred the evening before. • Little by little it grew clear. Norah, the housekeeper, had absconded. Tom remembered that she had given warning a week ago, but he had forgotten it until she left. “Confound these women!” he exclaimed, as he hurtled out of bed. "Confound the whole tribe of Eve’s daughters! Pretty fix I am in, with my own breakfast to get! Much I know about cookery! But no matter; I will not be dependent on a woman. Woman—bah! I can get as good a breakfast as the best of them!!’ feaying this, Tom Wentworth tied his necktie, combed his hair, and descended to the lower regions to decide on his breakfast. • “I. will have coffee and toast, of course; easily made, I know; anyone can make a cup of coffee. I must make n Are first, though.” This was soon accomplished, and then he searched for the coffee. "Let me see,” he meditated. “I shall need a quarter of a cupful, and we settle it, don’t we, with codfish? Yes, I know we do; I remember that much. Heard Nora say so one morning." And he turned the coffee and a generous Bhare of codfish into the pot, and placed it on the hob, and, then cut his bread. This done, he proceeded to set the table, when “ding-a-ling” went the door bell. ‘•Plague take It!” he muttered. ‘ Why •can’t they wait till a fellow has done breakfast ?” And he went slowly upstairs to the ■door. A showy handbill lay there, brilliant In gold and crimson, announcing the •advent of a grand circus. Tom Wentworth kicked it into the •treet, and was sorry he could not serve the boy the same way. Down again to the basement, to find his coffee just burning, and the nose off the tea kettle. Tom toasted his bread in no very enviable frame of mind, and after burning one side, concluded that side was done enough for both, and then sat down to enjoy it. “Ding-a-ling” went the bell once more, with a very decided and emphatic syllable on the end, as if to say, "Come quick!” Tom Wentworth sprang to his feet, with a frown on his handsome face. Running his hand quickly through his curly hair, he exclaimed, “By Jove! They may ring until the day of doom before I go!” And then he went. When Tom Wentworth opened the door he was indignant to find no one there, and was about closing it with a bang, when a basket at his feet arrested his attention. He was about to shove it off when a cry sounded from its depths. It was a faint, wailing cry, but it fairly froze Tom’s blood with terror. “Shades of Venice! Con ” But the rest of his exclamation was cat short by jitter inability to finish it. He took the basket up as if it were a bubble which he was afraid of breaking, and then set it down and gazed at it as if suddenly bereft of his senses; though in reality he was looking about for that dreaded object—a woman. None appearing, he again lifted the basket up and carried It into the house, and locked the door. A blue-eyed, golden-haired baby face appeared as he opened the dainty wrappings, and a pair of chubby, dimpled hands were stretched up to him, while a smile rippled over her face. A cold sweat broke out all over Tom. He leaned heavily against the Vail for support; but the dimpled hands were Stretched out again, and the smile gave way to such a grieved look that it took tbs citadel at once, and Tqm’s kind heart surrendered without further protest. Taking the smiling child in his arms, be looked into its blue eyes with an interest he had never manifested la any Other baby; and as the dimpled hands tmlled at the brown, wavy beard, they twined themselves about the haart-

strings of the strong man until he was willing to swear eternal allegiance to I*. A note In a peculiarly dainty hand was tied on baby’B sleeve with a narrow blue ribbon, and this was the inscription : "Mr. Tom Wentworth: "Please take my baby, Bessie, and bring her up to make a good, noble woman, as I think you are capable of doing. I know you have means to support her. Be good to my baby, and may Heaven do by you even as you do by her. I never shall claim her. "BABY’S MOTHER.” In the basket were a goodly number of dainty baby’s clothes, and that was ail, except a few plain directions for preparing her simple meals. These were written in the same delicate chirography as the note, and Tom treasured them both—for further use. "Well!” he exclaimed, I’m in for it now! Whoever would have Imagined, me with a baby? Seems she knew about me,” referring to the note. “Thinks I’m capable of bringing this child up for a good, noble woman, does she? Think she’d change her opinion >if she knew me and my notions about women! Wish they were all in— Heaven! Well, no, not exactly that, either; but I’ll make a good woman of this little one, If possible, although I am sadly afraid I must call In the aid of ocie of these same women; which shall it be? There’s Mrs. Frlzzel; no, she’s much too dressy—spends all her time on dress. In fact, she won’t do. Miss Arabella Upperton? No! May the fates deliver this little child from growing Into such a vain, frivolous woman as she. There is Mrs. Granby; too aristocratic to suit plain Tom Wentworth. Mrs. —there I have it!—r Mrs. Ellsworth—Aunt Louisa, bless her! She’s just the one to come here and bring up baby. I’ll see her today.” And Tom started downstairs once more, to get the baby’s breakfast. After that gigantic feat was accomplished, Tom left the child at a neighbor’s house, and started for “Aunt Louisa,” as Mrs. Ellsworth, a neighborly old lady, was called; but she was not at home—had gone to the sea coast, her daughter said, to be gone three months—and Tom was disconsolate.

Mrs. Mason, the daughter, offered to come for a week or two, until Tom could get other help, or she would take the child there; but Tom would not part with her, and at last was obliged to accept her offer to come for a few days. Tom Wentworth was the only child of Mr. Wentworth, of Clifden, a man universally beloved by all who had known him for his genuine kindness and many sterling qualities. Many years before his father had died, leaving Tom as the sole inheritor of his vast estate. For a long time he had spent his time roaming abroad, and then came home to settle down to his profession—that of a barrister—for although his wealth was great, Tom was not inclined to be idle. While abroad he met a pretty, blueeyed maiden, with whom he fell deeply in love, and whose love he, after a very short acquaintance, asked in return. Clara Broadwell professed to love him, until at last she disappointed him by proving herself entirely unworthy of the love of his big, honest heart, by marrying a poor, worthless fellow who she Imagined she loved better than Tom Wentworth. From that time, ten years before, he had lost faith in womankind. Because of the failing of one fair, false one, the entire race of womankind stood branded in his sight as faithless. He would “trust none of them,” he said, although all his better nature rose in rebellion at the Injustice of such an accusation. A month went by. Bessie was growing dearer each day to her new friend. His faith in womankind was growing stronger and deeper because of this one little bud of promise which was daily developing fresh beauty and loveliness. One morning, just before Tom w r ent to his office, there was a ring at the door bell, and he hastened to open it. A woman stood before him. clad in modest attire—a sweet-faced woman, who, in a low and gentle voice, asked if he had yet secured a nurse for his little foundling. . “No,” replied Tom. “I was about to look for one, as mine has just left me.” “I was sent to you with this, Mr! Wentworth,” producing a letter, which, after seating her, Tom proceeded to read. It was only a letter frntn friend, recommending Mrs. Burton to Mr. Wentworth as a lady in every point fitted as a competent nurse and companion for his little Bessie. ---i Topi, after a little questioning, employed her as a substitute for Mrs. Mason, who had just left, usd went off to his work whistling a merry little

ballad, which brought a smile to mo face of more than one of his friends. The time glided away very rapid)? now. Mrs. Burton was everything desirable In a nurse and housekeeper, and Bessie loved her dearly. She was quiet and sensible, her modest demeanor soon quite won Tom’s heart. "There must be some good in her, ov the little one would not love her ga.** he meditated. “So it seems that you are to be superseded, Mrs. Burton,” said a gossipy Neighbor one day to the quiet woman, who was lovingly stroking the curly head of her young charge. “In what manner?” replied Mrs. Burton. . ."■ "Why, !|r, Wentworth ihtends to marry soon. Had you not heard of it? The news is in everybody’s mouth. All the neighbors are talking about it.” “Inde«l!” And the gossip paused, quite out of breath. “Whom does Mr. Wentworth marry?” came very quietly from the little widow. “Lula Eastman, of course, and she’s a splendid little thing; a perfect beauty, too; but she is in every way fitted to be his wife, beautiful, talented and accomplished.” And the neighbor tripped off to impart her choice Information to her next friend. Oifly a week later, Tom entered the nursery quite unexpectedly, and a pretty sight met his eyes. Mrs. Burton sat on the floor, with baby Bessie on her lap. The lady’s hair had been unbound, and fell in long, rippling masses to the floor. The glasses which she generally wore in Tom’s presence were tossed aside, while the blue eyes and pretty face were full of beauty and animation. , Tom stopped short. "Clara Broadwood!” he ejaculated, when he could command himself. "How In the world did you get here?” “Mr. Wentworth, forgive me for imposing upon you, but I —oh, Mr. Wentworth, I felt as if I must see my little one again! I could not give her up, so I came here as Mrs. Burton.’’

She spoke rapidly, and Tom could hardly comprehend her. “Your liifcle one! Clara, is Bessie your child?” “Yes, Mr. Wentworth, and I have but one request to make of you. When you get married let me take Bessie. ’ I can see no other woman here as mother to my child when I have found I could not get on without her.” And the blue eyes looked so imploringly aU-him that Tom felt the old enchantment holding him once more in thrall as he looked at her. “When I get married, Clara?” he repeated, dreamily. ”1 don’t expect such a thing at present; for there is only one maiden in all the t world that I really love,” he said laughingly, "and that is my little sweetheart here,” kissing the upturned face of the little child. And if I thought I should have to give her up, I should think a long time before I took any one in her place.” The next morning, as Tom was about to go to his place of business, Clara Burton came downstairs in her traveling dress. Her eyes were red with weeping. Why, Mrs. Burton—Clara—why are you leaving me?’ he asked in astonishment. “I thought I ought to leave under the circumstances. I might stay as Mrs. Burton, but as Clara Burton, no. It is best for me to go.” “Stay, Clara, stay, and take care of your little one! She needs you—and I have found out that the old Idve Is not quite dead yet. May not Bessie be my daughter too, Clara —our little one?” “But about Lulu Eastman, Tom? Mrs. Digby said you were to marry her.” , “Confound Mrs. Digby!” said Tom, vehemently. “Lu Eastman is a nice girl, but too much of a butterfly for me. Clara, dear, forgive me, but through you I once lost faith in all women; through you It may be restored; may it not be so, darling?” “Yes, Tom; I have suffered from a fancied preference, but I can be happy now in my first and only true lover.” And so it was that the pure, guileless loye of a little child was the means of restoring Tom Wentworth’s lost faith in womankind.—Chicago Ledger.

“I’M in FOR IT NOW.”