Evening Republican, Volume 22, Number 184, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 6 August 1919 — The Last Shall Be Best [ARTICLE]

The Last Shall Be Best

By A. W. PEACH

(CopyrUhU 1«1». by th* McClure N.wapaper Syndicate.) Norman Milroy, on entering the ffooni, found his friend seated before the grate of the fireplace into which he was slowly feeding bits Of tom paper. His whole attitude was (hat of a man performing a solemn rife, awl doing it Badly, albeit with some degree of distaste, ‘ Hello, Carey, why (hfc_ftir_<»£Kniifr. , _ was Milroy’s greeting. Carey Jooked up with -a qhh k gin nee, and Milroy’s curiosity was further Increased by the mingled light of regret and anger in his friend’s eyes. Carey continued to shuffle the torn bits of paper into the fire which licked lip the fragments. Another glance told Milroy that Carey was burning letters —letters written In n small, feminine handwriting, and one that he himself recognized with a start as that <»f the girl whom they had both met that summer. She-had- seemed to favor Carey, and Milroy had retired as gracefully as he could after he discovered that her dark eyes had for thin no light that Is the most wonderful of all on earth. Shocked into seriousness by what tie had discovered, he said hesitatingly; “But those bits look like the remnants of letters. Something wrong?" Carey said nothing for a moment, then muttered sharply: “Thnt’s what they are —letters. I'in making a bonfire of the letters Mildred wrote me—and that’s just what they are good for. Milroy’s heart jumped. H something had come between his friend and the girl they both loved, there might be a Chance for him. for next to Carey, Milroy knew She had seemed very friendly to him. “What is the trouble, old chap, something that can be straightened ©ut?” Milroy asked. Carey shook his head with a growl. Knowing the ways of his good hearted but quick-tempered friend. Milroy said ©othlng but .waited. A moment later the crouching figure handl'd up a small letter, and Milroy took It. He recognized the fine handwriting.' the girlishly formed letters, and the memory of I hem aS he had seen them in brief notes to him Came back with a rush with memories ©f her. Me went to the window and opened .the letter. The chill of the first line struck him first. Instead of the loving terms which a loved one might be expected to use. there was the gaunt, ©old, formal: “Mv Dear Mr. Myron.” From that cool greeting, hardly one that a girl would send Io her lover, Milroy’s eyes ran on to the body of the letter. It began: “I feel that it Is time that you and I came to an understanding," and it went on to state In cold terms her idea of his behavior. Undoubtedly It was a letter that severed the relations between them. Rising from before the grate, Carey looked at him with njournful eyes. “There’s the end of a summer’s dream; and why it should be I don’t know. My confounded hot temper made me write things a while ago that I did not mean. She failed to keep an engagement with me—went ©ff with an old beau and left me In the lurch. I wrote a bit hotly about It. I’m I suppose it is your chance. I know how she regards you." , Milroy stopped his reading. “If you have lost interest in her —” “Lost interest in her.’v Carey said Sharply. “Man, I love her more than I ever did. but no man with any sense ©f honor can belittle himself by getting down on his knees after getting a note of that kind." Milroy started to say: "If a man loves a girl enough, he will get on his knees—-or even do more than that.” but knowing his friend he said nothing. “Throw the letter into the fire —.with the rest of ’em—that’s where It belongs.” said Carey' shortly. “I’ll be sorry for the whole affair before it Is over, but' that’s the -way I fee! now.” Milroy started to hand the fateful letter to Carey, who took it in his hand and then paused He looked at him with musing eyes. “I have always thought you were the chap for her. I know you have been out of touch with her since our engagement., You might as well start in where I left off. Take the letter ©.long; her new address is on it, and you can write her. lam done. I'm going to get out. for a month’s hunting trip in Maine, and when I come back, you can let me give you a dinner. I’m done .with all this business —a man in love is tike an animal off his feed. And I have been off my feed and my trolley ever since last June.” Milroy tucked the fetter into his coat, at the same time making an attempt to' cheer up his gloomy friend, yet knowing that the golden opportunity lay before him. From the apartment he hurried out, after vainly endeavoring to let a little sunshine into his friend's mood. The Small envelope in bis pocket with the precious address seemed to be warm and comforting with hope. He could not resist the temptation to draw it out, and as be talked he turned to it afaln. Again the cold, formal greeting came into view.; and

once more, he rend on, reading the cold lines that had led Carey to make a sacrifice of his cherished love letters and ’o decide to hurry to his Maine camp long before the best season was athand. Then Milroy stopped short as he turned a page. There was a sudden break, a space of white, anti the letter began again: “My Dear —You see how really cold-hearted I can be if I want to, don’t you? And I guess the preceding part of my letter has given you a good scare. Really, if I did not know how fine-hearted you are, I could nuj forgive, but —” Milroy went cold. The mistake was plain; the little joyou< game she had been playinz was evident. She had written the first,part of the letter in the cold mood as a little lesson for Carey; he had read no further, but in his quick. Inmulsive wav had reasoned that their love dreams were over. If he had-read-ofti—he would have found all the tenderness a charitable girlheart, deeply in love, can have for the one beloved. Milroy stood breathless as the thought came to him: I can keep this letter, and Carey and she need never know. The next moment he cursed himself for the thought, turned, and to the wonder of the passerby, hurried at a rapid pace down the street. He ent-red Carey's apartment, to find him morosely packing his bags. Carey looked up wonderingly. and Milroy held out the letter. In the familiar, if impolite language of long friendship, he said shortly: “You blundering idiot, when you get a love letter, why don’t you read all of it? Now take that letter and read It!’’ And Milroy sat down to enjoy the spectacle.