Evening Republican, Volume 16, Number 136, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 6 June 1912 — A Faith on Trial. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

A Faith on Trial.

By Aaron Rodd.

‘‘What is it inakes you so glum, old man?” The speaker was young man of twenty-eight and the man addressed was about the same age. There was, however, a striking contrast between the two. The first was, perhaps, the less interesting of the two, his square face, firm jaw and solidly bull* frame seemed to proclaim him an admirable specimen of the average man, so full of common sense as to have no room for ideals. His companion was, on the contrary, a noticeable man. A man, it could be seen filled with quixotic notions, a poetical and highly strung temperament, the chief visible sign of which Was the finely* formed nose and sensitive nostril. The friends, for such they were, walked slowly along the Thames Embankment in full enjoyment of a surprisingly mild morning

In March. When they reached Cleopatra’s Needle, Martin Atock made the remark with which our record of a remarkable episode opens. His companion, Richard Lyon, replied somewhat gloomily, “Because I have lost all faith In womanhood.” His friend, surprised, exclaimed, “By Jove! What a loss.” “It 1b a loss, a very great loss,” said Lyon with emphasis, and added as he grasped Atock’s arm. “I did not tell you-1 am engaged to be married.” "Married! By Gad, you surprise me. Not knowing the lady, I suppose I can’t congratulate you, and knowing SO wel], with your poetic fads /and fancies, I’m afraid I can’t congratulate her! That’s the situation, I fancy. Seriously, dear boy, I’m delighted. But are you sorry that you’re about to be tied up? Is that what’s the matter? And where does theioss of faith in womanhood come in?”—pi—— •- “Let’s us take one of the seats in the gardens for a moment, and perhaps when I tell you the facts you can help me.” They seated themselves, and Lyon, tapping the sole of his boot with his stick as he rested one leg on the other. said slowly: “I am as I told you, engaged to be married.” “And I have congratulated you on the fact,” said Aleck. “I hope you’ll be very happy.” “Yes; but I’ve got myself Into a horrid mess, in this way. I have been engaged now three mdflths, and the day before yesterday l wroto a long letter to my fiancee.” “Well, that yas not a very wrong thing to do.” “Will you listen? I wrote to her as one does to the girl one hopes to make one’s wife. Naturally I used very strong terms of endearment, and I am worried to death by the fact that writing in the office, as 1 did, in a hurry I put my letter into an envelope addressed to a girl I have only seen once and never said more than ‘lt’s a fine day’ to.” “Well, there’s nothing criminal in all this. The recipient may smile or laugh at you, but if she’s a lady she’ll return the letter without a word, and by and by you’ll both forget all about it.” '“What worries me, Martin, is this. I wrote, as I told you, in a very strong strain. I let my feelings run away with me, and I even had the temerity to ask my—wife-ten be to come to my rooms at half past seven to-night and promised to take her to the theater.” “Yes; well, you thing you’ve given the show away, so to speak, to a stranger. Is that It?” - "No fe ” said Lyon shortly.” I did not mention my fiancee’s name at all, so the person to whom the letter is addressed cannot be identified—” “Then what-ln Heaven's name are FOE groaning about?” cried Atock interrupting. “Can’t you see that there is something worse than what I have yet told you?” "Dear old chap, tell me what it is,” said Atock fully won at last to ▼tew the matter in a serious light.

“The tragedy lies here,” said Lyon. “I write and ask a lady U come to my rooms. The letter If addressed to my fiancee, but 11 reaches the hands of e lady who lit an utter stranger to me!” “Yes,” said Atock, keeping a very serious face with an almost superhuman effort, “and the tragedy?” “The tragedy is that she has accepted my Invitation! She IS coming to-night, she writes me, and” even we go to the theater or not.” “Well,” said Atock, “that is awkward, I must admit. You're in a beastly fix. I’ll tell yon! I have it You did not say yOu*d be alone. I*ll be there with you. That will settle the matter, eh, my boy?” “If it could have been so easily settled I wouldn’t have bothered you about it,” said Lyon with marked vexation. “I told you I wrote a very strong letter, an Impassioned loveletter, in fact, and I said over and over again what delight it would be ' to me to see her*—l mean my fiancee —alone for five minutes, for her old cat of an aunt never gives her a moment’s peace.” “But, by the way, you don’t mind letting me know the name of the girl—” “Let you know! Certainly not. I wouldn’t reveal It for worlds.” “I mean, dear boy, the name of the girl you are to marry.” "Oh, I don’t mind telling her name to you, of course not. You’ve met her —Bessie Biddulph.” There was another pause and then Atock cried: “I have it! Why not get Bessie —I mean Miss Biddulph—to meet the lady?” “Really, you’re getting to. be idiotic,” shouted Lyon. “A nice time I’d have explaining /Ifaw the whole affair happened! I’d nave to admit that my letter to Miss Biddulph went astray, and there’s nothing in the letter to prove to whom it was addressed! It commences, ‘My Darling Girl,—’ “Oh, Miss Biddulph knows you’ve only got one!” laughed Atock. “Hang it all, can’t you have sense?” said Richard, thoroughly Irritated. Seeing that his friend was truly perplexed, Atock began again: “It Is worrying, but where, to revert to my original question, does your gloominess and loss of faith in womanhood eome in, and is there anything very .very Incriminating in the contents of your letter?” “Nothing incriminating, but how can one have any faith in woman if you can invite an almost unknown girl of undoubted soclal position .and blameless antecedents in the manner I have told you, and discover to your horror that such a proposal is, accepted with alacrity? If one girl does such a thing, why not all?” "I mean to meet the girl,” he went on savagely. “I’ve gained a lot by telling you about my worry, haven’t I? I shall meet her and tell her its all a mistake, I don’t want to compromise her or myself. I might have called upon her; perhaps I’d better wire, but on the whole 1 think I shall see her—though I’ve no respect tot the brazen baggage.” “She’s not a brazen baggage,” said Atock, with sudden warmth. “How In heaven’s name do you know?” cried Lyon. “I never mentioned her name.” “No, yon did not,” said Martin, "but I think you should be just to the poor girl. You're a very fascinating fdllow, you know, old chap, quite a ladykiller, you know." “Well, thank heaven, I'm not an exasperating idiot. Thank heaven I’ve got ideals and live up to them. Thank heaven I’ve reverence left for true womanhood, though that reverence has been rudely shaken by this —this —disgraceful parallelogram in petticoats as I believe O'Connell called a particularly offensive piece of womtfnhood. Thank heaven —” “Thank heaven that you’ve got a friend who can get you out of the mess your high-flown ideas have got you into,”* said Atock. “I happen to know the lady you are speaking so disrespectfully about.” “You do?” cried Richard. “Who is she then —for I shall not tell you, even if you’re right.” "Her name is Ada Beatrice Purser,” said Martin solemnly. Lyon gasped. “She is a lady for whom I have a profound respect,” continued Atock. “I was with her when your letter arrived.” - —,

“And you respect a ‘lady’ who caa accept such an invitation as wai mine?”- asked Richard. “Certainly I can,” calmly replied Atock. “You’re not the only one engaged to be married, my boy. I am engaged to Miss Purser!” “Then what on earth is the meaning of her conduct?” asked Lyon. “Simply this. I dined with tht Pursers on Tuesday. Ada’s fathei has consented to her marrying me. She received your letter in the envelope which you had addressed t« her in reply to the questions on English literature which I had asked hei to put to you under pretext of beini a soul thirsting for knowledge. 1 know yon are fond of being consulted as a kind of watchdog of knowledge. Of course she could mak« neither head nor tail of yonr letter, and I—-I made her write and accept your invitation, which appointment, of course, she never intended t* keep, and I—well, I called to see you this morning just to see the effect her letter had had on you. Of course, I did not know then that yog were engaged to be married! S< your faith in womanhood is still intact!” “One’s faith is, I suppose, strongei after such testa,” said Richard gravely; “but,” he added with « smile, “in future no more ambiguously addressed tetters for me."

She asked for an explanation.