Rensselaer Republican, Volume 25, Number 13, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 24 November 1892 — SHE HATED POOR MEN. [ARTICLE]

SHE HATED POOR MEN.

BY MANDA L. CROCKER.

“Berenice! eotno here.” “Yes, mother.” A sweet faced girl-woman left her place in the deep bay window where she had been arranging the flowers and came reluctantly over to the side of the elderly lady bv the table. Detroit and his book-keeping?” A saicastic curl of the lip accompan - ied the quesUoa,—-.. —- “He expects to return to the city on next Wednesday, I believe,” answered the daughter, a peculiar expression coming into word and manner. •‘Well, I am glad of it!” exclaimed the mother triumphantly, “for I don’t want him poking around here on Thank giving Day when our city * frieoiT,'Howard • Atherling, is with vs,- He comes to spend the week with his ancle’s family, you know, and I’ve sent an invitation to all to eat Thanksgiving dinner with us." “Ves; so you told me yesterday." And Bernice went back to her flowering about her determined mouth. Mrs. Hunter leaned back among the cushions and took up her crocheting once more. Bernice's affections should be transferred from that pooh, penniless book-keeper to the handsome, rising young lawyer who already . had u snug fortune, if she, Mrs. Isabelle Hunter, had any tact in match-uratcing. Yes, decidedly it must be. Week lifter next would be Thanksgiving, and the Atherlings were expecting Howard. And by family and education the young lawyer and Bem.ce were suited to each other =~r== But then this contrary freak of her daughter's threatened now to upset alt her calculations and bring trouble in another direction. Bernice seemed to utterly ignore the young -disciple of Blackstone, E referring the society of merely a ook-keeper here of late.

It was really too provoking for any use; yet she was thinking, as she thrust the shining needle through the meshes, that after all the girl only meant to tease and amuse herself with Will Thursby for a time. It could mot be that a daughter of hers would so far forget her social po ition as tci he iu eUHivst in so doitfgr Elise had married wealthy, and Olxiu had become the proud wife of a Chicago Hanker, and Bernice must follow their example, or she, Mrs. Isabelle Huuter, would know why not. Yes. Well, then, next week that j penniless but dangerously winning Thursby would go ha k. to his em plover, and the coast would be clear I for the working of her much desired plan. How lucky 1 ‘‘Will ’’said a sweet voice over the back gate that evening, “ did you say that you knsvWwhen Howard Atherling's wedding takes place?” “The cards are ont for the day before Thanksgiving, ” answered he, “ but why do you ask, Bernice V ” She leaned towavd him and wh'spered something in a low, laughing wav and Will Thursby drew the dear head down to his breast and said: “Then your mother doesn't' know that I have fallen heir to the co >1 thousands, and that I only go back to Detroit to arrange the office affairs for my successor ? ” “ No ; I shall keep it from her until. A therling is manned, just for fun inch so verymuch, especially bookkeepers; but ~~ttreirtTan I " ,j ust imagi iie~haw q'uick ly she will fait in love with Mr~. Will Thursby when it comes out that lie Is lifted above the necessity of earning his own bread and butter. ”

And we leave them en oying their happy secret bv the wicket in the November twilight. Thanksgiving morning dawfiserisp and bright. Everything is in keeping with an air of thankflitness for a (misperous year in Mrs. Hunter’s ovelv home, and she. like the grim Puritan that she assumes to be, makes it her religious duty to attend church services, and see that everv one belonging to her household is punctually in her pew. The Atiierlings are there also, and Howard is there also, looking more stylish and handsomer than ever. But u lady at his side seems to claim all his attention, and is dressed, too, like a bride. It certainly wasn’t Grace Atherling, his proud sister, whom she met once at their uncle’s a year ago. No ; she didn't resemble her one bit. That Ijrovokingly beautiful veil, too. onked like the crowhTug point of a bridal trousseau. Mrs.f Hunter looked again. This time she saw a look on the handsome young lawyer’s face as he gazed down on the woman beside him that ma-Je her feel awfully uncomfortable, somehow. Weil, Mrs. Isabelle Hunter sat the ’ services out without feeling the least bit thankful, for reasons best known to herself. Bernice, however, seemed wonderfully attentive to the sermon. “This is my wife, Mrs. bowed Howard Atherling at tHe close of worship, as lie led the veiled lady up for an introduction. “ Lena, dear, this is my old friend Mrs. Hunter, of whom 1 have often spoken, and this, ” turning to Bernice, who stood by with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, “is another friend of mine, Miss Hunter. ” '■ “lam sure we shall be the best of friends. ” excluiined Bernice, delightedly, as she acknowledged the introduction by a cordial clasp of the hand und a duinty little kiss on the , fair cheek of Mrs. Howard Ather- «»«. Mamma Hunter said but little on the way homo, but her daughter

(ceased not to dwell on the exquisite taste of the bride's attire, fairly bubbling over that her dear friend •Howard Atherling had such a ladylike - There are more martyrs in this' world than those burned at the stake ; and Mrs. Hunter felt jn her inmost soul th t she suffered all the keenness of chagrin and wounded pride in that short service hour. But it could not ho helped. Howard Atherling had a right to marry whosoever he pleased, for all her; trow tlmtbe b*d exercised that right. Bernice would most likely have her bent in preferring that poverty-stricken Thursby. It would come to more than that, too, her motherly intuition knd her. She had always heard of the “ black sheep, ” but she didn’t think such a dreadful thing would crop out in the Hunter family. = ~~ Now, something told her that Bernice, with her wit and .beauty, her accomplishments and queenly bearing, would metamorphose herself shortly into that undesirable creature, and likely as not elope with that bookkeeper—maybe before Christmas; she had noticed that they were wonderfully intimate Oh. dear! 3 3 But the Atherlings bad accepted her invitation, and must be entertained. Her enviable title as-the finest hostess in all Merriweather must not suaer; so, laying aside her terr i bleheartache, Mrs. Hunter put through the day in the red hot cruci-

ble of substituting smiles for tears. She felt more like weeping bitterly of course, than smiling down on the innocent, git fish figure usurping the place she had so long coveted for Bernice; but there was no opportunity, and she must live it down. Finally the day dragged through, and what a Thanksgiving it had been, to be sure. None but Mamma Hunter even knew how every moment of that awful day lengthened out on purpose to stab her wounded, cumulative pride through aud through. Strange that Bernice did not by word or look taunt her with the failure of her plans; she was doubtless too weil satisfied with the prospect of being left with Thursbv only to entertain. Never “min'd, that book

keeper should never enter the house at Merriweather Place again; she would have her revenge. The Alheiiings were gone now. the china and silver had been restored to their respective closets, and Bernice had gone sedately up stairs to write a letter, and a neighbor, Mrs. Amsden, dropped in. “Of course you’ve heard the news,” she claimed, almost before Mrs. Hunter wheeled an easy chair into place for her comfort. —— “That Howard Atherling is married? Yes; he and his wife were here to day,” replied Mrs. Hunter, coldly. “No!oh, no; that’s nothing out of the common,” exclaimed Mrs. Amsden, impatiently', “all young folks marry, or expect to, at least, but what I meant to tell you is wonderfully good luck for your daughter, Bernice.” “I don’t understand/’ said Mrs. Hunter, mystified, veering out, figuratively, i’or the silver lining to the November cloud. “Why, don’t you know,” excitedly exelaime 1 the other, “that Bernice is the only girl in all the wide world that Will Thursby cares for, and now be s worth his thousands and thousands.” ... —~~jr Mfs,~B unter leaned toward her -friend with a sl rangccommiHgtfflgvT hope, doubt and fear on her aristocratic face. . Putting her hand on the arm of Mrs. Amsden, she whispered: “Is that true?”

“Why, yes, of course it is. I guess I ought to know, when Mr. Amsden is engaged as agent already to look after some real estate here falling to the fortunate Thursby soon. “O—o— oh!” cried Mrs. Hunter, clasping her hands in an ecstucy of delight. - “And he is a most desirable companion. too ” “Your daughters have all done well, Mrs. Hunter,” pursued her friend, “and it is so very lucky for them, and you, too;” “My daughters know better than to do any other way,” replied the blue-blooded mother, proudly. ‘‘Bernice. too, is a very sensible girl, and I’ve always felt easy about her choice of company.” After an hour Mrs. Amsden took her Mrs. Hunter, tiptoeing to the stairway, called softly: “Bernice! Bernice!” “ Yes’m.” And shortly the daughter descended, writing materials in hand, and with oue dainty finger blackened w i think. “I’ve been writting to that horrid book-keeper, mamma,” sho said, in answer to her mother’s look of inouirv. “I’ve concluded to drop Will Thursby and not waste my time any longer on a moneyless man; don’t you think I’m growing sensible?” A flush of shame that her objections to the young man would spoil be laid bare come over Mrs. Hunter's face, but she said bravely enough: “Don’t you love him a bit, dear?” “What’s love-insipid tiling—compared with money?’ 1 retorted Beruice ironically, 'j “Butr-Wm Thursby Is wealthy now,” ventured the mother; “hasn’t he told you anything as yet? I should have thought he would; Mrs. Amsdun told me." “Impossible!" replied Beruice, warmly. '( “If he had money he would have told me, would he not? Mrs. Amsden—fudge!” “But I wouldu't send the letter, dear," advised the mother, “for it is certainly true that he is wealthy. Mr. Amsden is his.agent here to look after his real estate in this vicinity." Bernice Cite * to

be thinking deeply as sbe twirled the letter around on her finger. “Oh, well,” she said lightly, “suppose he is; it will always nang over him that he once kept books for a wholesale grocery st re in Detroit. 1 should always remember it, and it would be humiliating, to say the least. No, I’ll send the letter and end it.” Mrs. Hunter began to cry. She was satisfied that Thursby was no longer poor, and she knew that in every other respect he was a man to be admired. “Oh, Bernice!” she moaned hysterically , sank into a seat, ‘ how awfully contrary you The door-bell rang at this juncture and put an end to further protest. A servant soon ushered in Mr. Will Thursby. Mrs. Hunter came forward with a glad welcome on her lips, but Bernice only said, “You’ve missed your Thanksgiving dinner. Mr. Thursby,” '‘l do so deslie to congratulate you on your good fortune,” cried Mrs. Hunter, holding out both hands in an exceedingly cordial manner. Will Thursby took one proffered palm with a curious smile, but said nothing. “Why don’t you congratulate him, Bernice?” asked the mother in a half angry tone. “O, I don’t care to overdo the matter; I congratulated him three weeks ago,” replied the«daughter. “So he told you, did he?” Mrs. Hunter was all smiles now : the disappointment was all gone from tone and face.

“Yes, my dear Mrs. Hunter.” put in Thursbv; “how'-coufd I keep the joyous fact from mv promised wife longer? I could not, indeed!” Mrs. Hunter gave her daughter such a look of provoked amazement that both the young persons laughed heartily. Presently she joined in the merriment against herself, without knowing why. And when the shadows of Thanksgiving night crept around Merriweather Place, and Will and Bernice had gone for a ride in the moonlight weather, Mrs. Hunter stole softly to 'her room murmuring: “My, what an eventful day this has been, to be sure. I certainly had no thougliTol’' all this. “But lam thankful! O, so thankful!” And the twenty-third psahn trembled on her lips.