Jasper County Democrat, Volume 3, Number 6, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 19 May 1900 — Captain [ARTICLE]

Captain

BY B. M. CROKER

CHAPTER Xl.—(Continued.) "Stop, atop, Miles!” she cried, startin* forward, with dilated eyes and quivering lips. “Do you mean,” Catching her breath, “that you suppose that that lancer was—- " Your lover,’ he interrupted fiercely. "X don't suppose it, I know it.” A violent banging of .doors, a small, shrill whistle, an “I beg your pardon, sir, time's op,” from a running guard, and the train was already gliding out of the station, with Miles' last passionate sentence vibrating in Esme’s ears. “I don’t suppose Lt, I know it.’’ His angry eyes, his pallid face, were still before her vision, instead of the sheds and trucks and grimy red-brick walls, that they were passing with ever-increasing speed. For a moment or two she did not move, she seemed stunned; then, regardless of Flack, she flung herself on her knees and buried her face in the dusty blue carriage cushion opposite, saying, “Oh, this is too much, too much!” Fate was too hard! Was she to lose both Teddy and Miles within the very same hour? It was impossible! and she wept unrestrainedly and violently. "Oh, I’m too miserable to live!” she moaned, as Flack came and bent over her; insisted on her reseating herself, and not “taking on” in this wicked way. “He’ll come back, Miss Esme, safe and sound. Don't you be fretting for Master Teddy , you know, as he said you wasn’t to—and you promised. Come now,” reprovingly. “It is not him, Flack! It’s—lt’s Captain Brabazon,” trying to stifle her ungovernable sobs. “Laws, yes; I saw him a minute at the carriage door, and he seemed a bit put out.” Flack was somewhat deaf, and, being at the other end of the carriage, the hurried interview' between the cousins had been nearly all dumb show to her; what with the noise on the platform and the hissing of the engine, the sound of their voices had been entirely drowned. “I never told him about Teddy,” said Esme, in a choked voice. “Teddy would not let me, and now he thinks all kinds of dreadful things. What shall 1 do? What shall I do?” wringing her hands in a frenzy of despair. Then taking off her hat, and pressing her hands to her throbbing temples, she gazed hopelessly at her companion, who sat before her openmouthed and stared back in t condition of mutual stupefaction. But -a bright Idea suddenly beamed upon her mind, and, nodding her head two or three times with great satisfaction, she shouted: “1 have it, miss! You can telegraph—telegraph!” raising her voice still higher. “Telegraph—but where?” “Well, to be sure, I don’t know, miss; wherever be is. But you may know.” “His club, of course; that will find him. Oh, you clever, clever Flack! The instant we get to Waterloo I’ll telegraph that Teddy is my'brother. Under the circumstances Teddy would not mind!” “No, indeed; why should he?” indignantly. “Deary, deary me! 1 would not have believed it of a quiet-looking young gentleman. 1 would not have believed it!” “Believed what?” “Why, that Captain Brabazon could have worked himself up into such a terrific passion about nothing; that he bad such an audacious temper. Miss Esme, his eyes was blazing like two candles in his head.” To this remark Esme.made no reply. She could not talk; she dried her eyes, tried to master her long-drawn sobs and quivering lips, and sat with her hat in her lap, gazing vacantly out of the window while the express thundered and roared through station after station, but went all too slowly for her.

chapter XII. The telegram was dispatched the in•tanf they arrived iu .London, and Esme breathed more freely. Then she and Flack made their wny across town, had tea at another station, and after another railway journey and a jolting drive Esme, tfred, stiff and dazed, descended at the side door at home. She was admitted by Gussie, with a rather frightened face, n candle In her baud, and her finger on hte lipa. “So you are home safe and Bound,” she whispered. “Well, my dear, I would not go through this evening again for a trifle. And how pinched and pale and frocen you look. We must wrap you up in cotton-wool to-morrow, or you won’t be at all the pretty bride we Intend to show!” “I don’t think I shall ever be a bride,” •aid her sister, in au exhausted tone, ■inking into her moat popular school-room chair. “Miles came up to me at the station, literally stammering with yage. He looked ns if he could have—have killed me, with pleasure; and In about three senteucea cast me off, and said good-by forever. I was too much astonished to apsah— to tell him the truth: and In one second more we were gone.” “Great heavens!’’ was all Gussie could articulate, as she knelt on the hearthrug. “I have sent him a telegram to hia club, ■nd it he goes back to London he will get it, telling bim who Teddy is.” “I’m surprised you had that much sense,” said Gussie, drawing a breath of relief. “And to wbat club?” “The Mars and Jupiter.” “Oh, you stupid, stupid owl! He never goes there, not once ih * blue moon. You should have sent it to the Junior Red and Blue,” nodding her hesd impressively. “Well, well, well, 1 can’t have you dying on my hands, all the same; drink some of thia nice, hot aoup at onee. I saved it tor you. Come, now, there’s a good girl; starving won’t mend matters.” "What’s the use? It's very good of you, but the very idea of swallowing ■ makes me feel sick; indeed It does.” “That’s hunger,” retorted Guasie, promptly, "the pangs of gnawing hunger. Come, now, you really must, after my keeping Jt warm in a dear little saucepan

for the last two hours. And think what a spectacle you will be when Miles comes here to-morrow! arrives up the avenue—a penitent, on his bended knees, and probably with peas in his shoes.” And thus Esme was persuaded to be a good girl. * “And poor Ted—what about him?” inquired Gussie, sitting on the rug and nursing her knees. “You saw him off, and see how dearly you have paid for it, jlbu courageous but mistaken young person; you would have your own way.” Esme looked down thoughtfully at her vivacious sister. “Don’t you know,” now expostulating with one hand, “that you, poor dear, are one of the people who may never look over the wall, while others may steal a dozen horses without the smallest suspicion? Now I,” patting herself complacently, “might run down to Portsmouth three days a week, and see off half the army, and I’ll venture to bet no one would ever burst like a shell upon me, as Miles did on you to-day. Poor Esme — gone only one little day. It’s all a matter of luck; and you have none,” In spite of her brain being in a perfect ferment, Esme fell asleep almost before her head was on the pillow. The mwd has to give way to the body sometimes, and her long railway journey up to London and down to Portsmouth and back, had completely worn her out, and she slept; but her sleep was disturbed by dreams; better far had she remained awake. Now it was Teddy’s face, pale and death like, that came before her and whispered, with a sobbing sigh, “goodby forever.” Now It was Miles’ features, dark and threatening, that bent close to her and hissed into her-ear, “good-by.” Then she dreamed of Mrs. Brabazon, whose presence alone was enough to turn any dream into a nightmare—Mrs. Brabazon and an earthquake. This latter vision was fulfilled on the spot; someone was violently shaking the foot of the little brass bed, someone standing there in a slate-colored flannel dressing gown. Esme opened a pair of startled eyes, and beheld no less a person than Mrs. Brabazon herself. Such a visitation was unparalleled; what awful catastrophe had brought her there at such an early hour, in slippers and dressing gown, and without her front teeth? Her face was lemon color, her eyes lurid, her voice harsh. She held a letter clutched in her hand.

“Wake up, wake up, Esme,” she exclaimed, once more jolting the bed violently; and Esme, now thoroughly aroused, began to take in the recollection of yesterday, a recollection which stole over her mind like a wave of half-frozen water. She had had a kind of vague hope, as shq first looked at Mrs. Brabazon, that it was all—all a dream; but now she was roused by the agony of a sharp mental awakening. “Sit up at once, and listen to me, miss, and tell me what this means—this letter from Miles Brabazon,” unfolding as she spoke, the epistle, which literally cracked in her hand. “He says: “ ‘Dear Mrs. Brabazon—l think it right to tell you at once that there will be no marriage between my cousin Esme and myself. I refer you to her for the reason, and am, yours truly, “ ’MILES BRABAZON.’ “Now, please to give me the reason this moment,” she proceeded, grasping the bar at the foot of the bed in both handu, and glaring at her step-daughter, “la he in his right mind? No address, no date. Postmark, Portsmouth.” Still Esme could not speak; vainly she tried to articulate. No words would come. She would have fared better if she had been tjp, standing on her feet; but with her furious step-mother towering over her from the bottom of the bed she was at her mercy in every way, and speechless. Gussie, who, already dressed, stood trembling and quaking in the background, making unintelligible signals to her sister behind her step-mother’s back, now found courage to say: “Tell her, Esme; it’s nothing so very dreadful, after all!” And Esme, thus adjured, told what had happened.” “It is not quite as bad as 1 expected,” was Mrs. Brabazon’s comment when she had heard the story. “You had better stay in your room to-day. I shall write and telegraph to Miles and Annie and tell them the truth. There, you can keeu that,” tossing Mlles’ note contemptuously, ou the counterpane. “The trouble and anxiety I’ve had about this whole business has nearly worn me into my grave. What with your scruples and Miles* scruples, and the fatigue about your trousseau, and now this.” So saying she trailed majestically out of the apartment, closing the door with, a bang that made the jugs and basins rattle for two minutes. All that long day Esme remained upstairs, while Gussie brought her constant bulletins from the lower regions, and Nokea appeared periodically with a large cup of tea on a small tray. But no letter, no telegram, no Miles put in an appearance. The day waned, night come. And so ended Esme’s wedding day! »

CHAPTER XIII. Let ua now return to Miles, whom wo left on the platform at Portsmouth, nearly beside himself with rage, and almost blind with passion. He was a young man of prompt action, and once he was roused be did nothing by halves. He hurried off to a hotel and penned the blotted note we have already seen between Mrs. Brabazon’s twitching fingers. He then took the night train, for Aldershot, where the second battalion of his regiment was now undergoing the agonies of inspection previous to its departure for the Cape. “One thing was certain,” he ssM to himself emphatically; “they should not ■ail without him.” The mere Idea of remaining In England, to be harried by his frienSs about his broken engagement,

was nothing less than madness. He interviewed the astounded commanding officer at 8 o’dock in the morning. He begged and prayed to be taken as a supernumerary, or, vaguely, “anything.” But, luckily for him, one of the captains was on the Tick list, one who would probably retire, and with him he effected a prompt exchange. He telegraphed to Burmah, he telegraphed here and there—to th> war office, to outfitters, to any and every where but Baronsford. He lived in a kind of rain of, otange envelopes. He made a flying trip to the Horse Guards and to his tailor’s. He called at Annie’s; she was out. But he shunned the clubs as if the plague were raging ih their vicinity. Did not ail his chums know that he was to have been a married man ere this? Now the Second Battalion Royal Marchers knew nothing of. his affadrs, and he was comparatively at ease among them. Down at Aidershot all was confusion. Chaos reigned in the officers’ quarters and in the mess. At last the regiment was fairly off .to the station, and played' away in two troop trains, by the band of another corps, while a crowd of sympathizing spectators cheered and waved handkerchiefs. Twen-ty-four hours later they were aboard the Portugal, hired transport, steaming out of Portsmouth harbor to the tune of “The Girl I Left Behind Me.”

“The girl I left behind me.” What a bitter irony that well-known air implied to Captain Brabazon, as he leaned his arms on the bulwark, with his forage cap pulled over his brow, and his eyes fixed upon the fast-receding shores of merry England; and he laughed to himself a grim, contemptuous, not very pleasant laugh, as he glanced at a boy close to him, whose eyes looked misty, whose whole idea and expression conveyed the idea that he had left some fair ladylove in the land whose shores were becoming dimmer every moment. At St. Vincent’s they put in for coal, after nine days’ steady steaming; that land-locked harbor presented a busy scene—colliers and small vessels and transports. The Portugal happened, by good luck, to be the first of a batch of troopers all bound for the Cape. But first come, first served, and after twenty-four hours’ hard coaling she steamed out through the fleet, the band playihg “Rule, Britannia,” amid loud cheers from all the other ships. The Portugal put in for more cnal at Cape Town, and all the marchers were delighted to land and have a rm on shore, after a month at sea. Miles, and half a dozen others, made their way to the Civil Service Club, in hansoms, and who should be standing on the stepV, all smiles and freckles, and blinking lathes, but Captain Gee, promoted to the second battalion, dressed in spotless white, and having landed that very morning from British Burmah. Very heartily did he greet the first arrivals, but to say that he was astonished to see his bosom friend, Miles Brabazon, among the crowd, but feebly expresses his feelings. However, he had the sense and prudence to restrain himself (ill opportunity suited. No sooner had the door banged after the last merry subaltern than Captain Gee, who had been lying back in a very deep, very chair, suddenly clutched each protruding arm, drew himself up to the very edge of it, and, confronting his companion, eagerly asked these three questions in one breath: “Well, where is she? What have you done with her? Are you married?” “No more than you are, thank goodness,” returned the other, knowing well that it was useless to attempt to evade or postpone a searching cross-examina-tion. “It was a near thing. 1 can hardly bear to—to talk of it. We were within a day and a half of the wedding and there was an end of everything.” “Was the money a sell?” demanded Captain Gee. “No, that was all right.”

“Then,” said Dicky, decisively, “it must have been the girl. No doubt you neglected her, snubbed her and shut her up on all occasions. Oh! if I had only had your opportunities.” “There is another view of the subject that has not struck you as yet,” said Miles, gravely. “I suppose,” with a Visible effort, "you must know it sooner or later. Let us get it over now, and never speak of it again. Come out on the balcony, It’s stifling in here.” Dicky responded to the invitation with alacrity, looking up with sharp expectancy into his brother officer’s face. “It was not my cousin who broke off the match; it was I,” he said, with slow, distinct utterance. “I wouldn’t doubt ye,” Interposed his companion, in an angry undertone. “And whatever I tell yqu is sacred, Dicky; these other fellows know nothing of it,” nodding toward the distant masj>smiling grimly. “Go on, go on, man alive!” “It‘s easily told in a few words. We were within less than two days of the wedding, when I accidentally discovered that she was madly in love with another man. I saw her kissing him with my own ejes.” “There was no getting over that, 1 suppose,” said Gee. “And so,” not deigning to notice the suggestion, “I just made my bow there and tlwn, got an exchange, and hete 1 am!” “You’re sure there was no mistake; it was no other person?” inquired the Wily Dicky, anxiously. “No, no mistake! I saw her with my own eyes, and seeing is believing, ik it not?” sarcastically. “Poor old chap, I’m sorry for yon, for your sake, but I’m proclous glad to get you back for my own,” slapping him vigorously on the back. “Cheer up, fnan, and don’t look so down in the mouth; it’s nothing when you’re used to it; anil remember this—that there's as good fish in the sea as ever were caught; girls are plentiful; as to the young woman ** “Yes, and as to the young woman?” with a. look of veiled contempt. “All I wish to remark is,” scrutinising his companion gravely, “that the loss is hers." <To be continued.)

Samarkand has a but the Samarkanders are obliged to go on Coot on Saturdays, as all the drivers are atflctly orthodox Hebrews. The town authorities tried to force them to work on their Sabbath, but the appeal court has upheld the religious rights of the drivers. There are 36,284 locomotives on the rails, in the roundhouses, or In the shops of the railroads of the United States; 9,956 are hauling paasraffw when in use and 20,627 are freightWl» motives.