Jasper County Democrat, Volume 10, Number 16, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 20 July 1907 — ON THE FLORIDA SPECIAL. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

ON THE FLORIDA SPECIAL.

By Philip Kean.

Copyrighted, 1907, by P. C. Eastment.

Miss Carstairs was not so old or so sophisticated that she was dead to the delights of helving three bunches of violets, two boxes of candy and a bun* die of magazines piled up on the seat next to ber. Seemingly unconscious of the glances that bad followed her as she came In, she nevertheless seated herself in her chair with the feeling that she was a person of importance aird ohe whose popularity was evidenced by the number and value of her goiuk away gifts. As it the gods had not been good enough, however, Just as the train pulled out and Richanfl Marston held her hand In a last farewell, the porter staggered In bearing a huge hamper, fruit filled and flower decorated, such a hamper as one sees only in the tropical paradise of millionaires. Marston eyed it jealously. “Such a display of money,” he criticised. “It’s beautiful,” Miss Carstairs assured him. “Oh, well, my violets won’t have a chance now,” but it was a question rather than an assertion, and Miss Carstairs said, “How do you know?” And that was encouragement, or would have been from anybody but Miss C install's. a mind to go on with you to Daytona,” Marston hesitated, and Miss Carstairs said “Oh, do!” and <hat settled it. Marston went to find the conductor and get a chair, and as there wasn’t any but the one next to Helen the porter lifted the bunches of the two boxes of candy and the hamper of fruit and the bundle of magazines and carried them to

the end of the car and piled them where the passengers eyed them and then screwed their necks to get a better view of Miss Carstairs, all of which that young lady enjoyed as much as she enjoyed the distinction of having Richard Marston for a traveling companion. “Think of my hobnobbing with a celebrity,’’ she said. “ ‘Of the making of books there is no end,’ Marston quoted sententiously. “Think rather of my traveling with a beauty.” “And both of us as poor as poor,” Helen sighed. Marston looked at her. “I wonder why you say that?” he asked. “What difference does it make”— Helen stared at him. “I thought”— she gasped. ' “That I wanted to marry you,” he finished for her. “But I don't!” and he settled back in his chair and looked out toward the line of the tropical shore, where a few cocoanut palms were silhouetted against a purple sea. “Oh!’ Helen’s sense of Importance had departed. Suddenly gfce felt immeasurably insignificant, but this feeling was succeeded by one of intense Indignation. “Of all things!” she ejaculated. “Well, I know it’s unusual for a man to withdraw a proposition of that kind in ten minutes, and I know I said some pretty insistent things just before the train left, but I’ve changed my mind. It’s usually a woman’s prerogative.” was his easy’’way t»f getting out of it, “but this time it’s a man’s, and I’ve changed my mind.” For the first time in her life Miss Carstairs could not meet the situation. She simply sat there with her cheeks burning and hated him. Curiosity getting the better of her, however, she asked: “But why?” “That thing,” Marston said succinctly and nodded toward the hamper. “To think you could take a thing like that from—Deering!” Miss Carstairs felt better. She could meet jealousy. , “But I couldn’t help It, could I?” was her Innocent query. “I couldn’t tell the porter to drop the basket on the platform.” "But I was so sure you had turned him down,” Marston complained, “positively, you know—over at the Breakers last night, after the dance.” “I tried to-” I "And couldn’t?” She ngdded. "Too many Inducements? Country

house, town house, trips to Europe, diamonds—O Lord'S” Marston groaned as he finished the catalogue. ‘‘No.” She tUrued from him to a contemplation of the scenery, and for a time they rode in silence, passing beyond the long line of palms to the orange groves—brilliant Wretches of yellow and green that filled the car with the fragrance of wedding bouquets. Suddenly Marston flung out, “What was it that kept you from turning him down positively, Helen?” * She leaned forward and spoke with conviction. “I might do worse than marry Deering.” “A pork packer.” “It’s better to marry a pork packer than to have nothing to pack?* she Informed him. Marston fixed her with a stern eye. “I |ell you right now, Helen,” he said, “that I won’t run this race in competition With Deering. I don’t trot in the same class. You can give him up or give me up.” Helen reached over and touched the electric bell. “Will you bring me some telegraph blanks?” she said to the porter when he came. “And now will you leild me a pencil?” she asked Marston as she fluttered the leaves of the yellow pad. “What are you going to do?” Mastiton questioned as be handed it to her. “I am going to telegraph to Deering,” she said. “I told him that I would say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ by telegraph.” Marston went white. “Don’t do anything rash, Helen,” he warned. “I sha|l do as I pleast,” said Miss Carstairs, and he leaned back and snapped out, “Oh, of course.” She sat with the pencil poised. “1 wish you’d toss a penny for me,” she said at last. “Heads I do it—tails I don’t” “I will do nothing of the kind.” “Oh, well, don’t!” She scribbled a hasty word and reached for the bell. But Marston stopped her. “What have you written?” he demanded sternly. The other passengers were growing speculative as to the actions of the handsome young couple. Helen, suddenly conscious of their observation, commanded: “Go up there and get me one of my boxes of candy and some fruit. People will think you are proposing to me.” “I am. Will you fnarry me, Helen?” “Not until you get my candy.” He came back, staggering under Deering’s hamper, and passed the porter going out, with a telegraph blank in his hand. Marston dropped the hamper on the seat in front of Miss Carstairs and hurried after the porter. And then Helen waited. A half hour passed—three-quarters. She grew worried. Did he care enough to hurt himself in any way? It wasn’t like Richard to kill himself for disappointed love. She rose and w ent through the train. The eyes of the other passengers followed her. She walked with ease and lightness, and from the topmost wave of her brown hair to the tip of her tan boots she was absolutely correct, modish, beautiful. She found Marston on the observation platform, with his moody eyes fixed on the shining rails that seemed to slip from beneath the train to end In the sunset. As she came up behind him she saw' something in his face that touched her with tenderness. She dropped her hands on his shoulders. “Oh, little bad boy,” she said, “you read the telegram!” “Don’t Joke,” he said hoarsely. “I am punished enough.” “If you had not been so—so Impertinent,” Miss Carstairs informed him, “I should have told you before that I promised Deering to wire whether I had decided to —to marry you, not whether I was going to marry him.” Marston gazed at her in a dazed way. “Then your ‘yes’ meant”— ‘That I am going to marry you, little bad boy?’ said Miss Carstairs coolly.

“DON’T JOKE,” HE SAID HOARSELY. "I AM PUNISHED ENOUGH.”