Evening Republican, Volume 14, Number 87, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 12 April 1910 — THE DEAR FRIEND FROM FRANCE. [ARTICLE]

THE DEAR FRIEND FROM FRANCE.

The telephone rang insistently in the brokerage offices of Mason & Rusi sell. Charley Russell impatiently took ' up the receiver. “Hello —Russell? Will you do something for me?’’ The young broker could barely distinguish the ’ words, on account of h buzzing on the wire, but ebhcludfed it to be his partner with soihe left-over business. “Sure,” he replied. No sooner was the affirmative spoken than the confusion cleared and instead of his partner he heard a girlish voice plunge into a flood of directions: “Mademoiselle reaches Jersey City at 7:10 Pennsylvania. Please bring her to the Ex Moor, third floor front We’ve Just moved. I’m ill alone and can't go.’’ “You’ve the wrong—” began Russell politely. “No, I'm sure of the train,’’ insisted the sweet voice. “She will have a blue ribbon, too. Isn’t that fine? You’re a darling to go.” Before Russell could launch into explanations, a faint click came as the speaker hung up the receiver. ‘Public station, party gone,” said the telephone girl blandly, when the broker frantically rang up central. Russell sank back in his chair aghast, when he realized that there was no alternative. He pulled out his watch. Six-fifteen. Just time to meet the train. He ran over the fragmentary directions, smiled appreciatively as he remembered the girl’s concluding remark: “You’re a darling to go”. She did have a nice voice. Then he snapped his desk shut and left the office. “Se that gent,” announced a station guard, as the evening crowds forged through the train gates toward the New York ferries. “Detective watchin’ fer a criminal.” “You’se don’t' say so.” And the second employe joined the loiterers in curious observation of the nice locking young man who approached cautiously every foreign looking woman and scrutinized her costume. Russell mopped his brow. This was hard work. For an hour and a half he had watched for belated trains. He was beginning to feel ridiculous. The only decent thing was to report his failure at the Ex Moor, so he crossed the ferry, located the house in a directory, and was soon on a Broadway car. When he stepped from the elevator on the third floor, the boy directed him three doors down a dim corridor. While he was groping for the electric button the door swung open and a fluffy-haired girl stood poised on the tip of a wave of light. “I knew you would do it,” she declared gladly. “I beg your pardon,” began Russell. The girl drew back in dismay at the strange voice issuing from the dark corridor. “The French woman didn’t come”— The frank stare from the young woman rather disordered his nicely chosen words, but Russell floundered on. “You phoned—l met all the trains—but could not find a French woman with a single blue bow.’’ “A French woman?’’ The pretty forehead wrinkled up in most enchanting fashion. “Why—the 4 only time I phoned was to Russell to”— “I'm Russell,” smiled the young man. * The girl’s blue eyes looked frankly into his. ‘But I mean Russell Towne,” she said. “Now we have it. The phone calls got mixed. Baker Towne & Co. have offices next to ours.” “I’m awfully sorry.’’ “I’m not. Except for the French girl. If only you could have seen me watching the gates for ladies with blue bows!” “Oh,” cried the girl Incoherently, “Mademoiselle-’’ She must have been depending on—her husband, probably, thought Russell—the (nicest girls always were married) to meet a dear friend from France. “I will find her,” he offered quickly. ‘She may have gone to a restaurant for dinner.” The girl dropped into a chair; in the dim light Russell saw that she shook as if in a paroxysm of grief. “I will find her, Mrs. Towne,” he promised eagerly. Anything to stop these pitiful sobs. The girl lifted her head. Her eyes were full of tears, but the shine and twinkle there were not of sorrow. “French wpman; Mrs. Towne!” she cried with little ripples of laughter, that left the man nonplussed. “Why; Mademoiselle is my blue ribbon spaniel and Russell is— my cousin!” The man’s face cleared by magic. “Let’s find Mademoiselle,” he suggested quietly, “to introduce us.”