Rensselaer Republican, Volume 26, Number 47, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 19 July 1894 — Page 6

SHIPS THAT PASS IN THE NIGHT.

fpART I.—CHAPTER XI- Continued]

“Fraulein Holme, I hate them,” •he ,«*id. “I could never keep them. Heir could I send them now to my cAg mother? TtfSy-would bring her n luck —indeed they would.” The matter was solved by Bernardine in a masterly fashion. She suggested that Mario should buy flowers with the money, and put idea comforted Marie beyond Bernardine’s most sanguine expectations. “A beautiful tin wreath.” she said several times. ’ I know the exact kiud. When mv father died we put one on his grave.” That same evening, during tabled’hote, Bernardine told the Disagreeable Man the history of the afnoon. He had been developing photographs, aud had heard nothing. He seemed very little interested in her relation of the suicide, and merely remarked: ‘“Well, there's one person less in the world.” “I think you make these remarks from habit," Bernardine said quietly, and she went on with her dinner, attempting no further conversation with him. She herself had been much moved bv the sad occurrence; every one in the Kurbans was more or less upset; and there was a thoughtful, anxious expression on more than one ordinarily thoughtless face. The little French danseuse was quiet; the Portuguese ladies were directly tearful; the vulgar German Baroness was quite depressed; the comedian at the Belgian table at his dinner in silence. In fact, there was a weight pressing down on all. —Was-it really possible, thought Bernardine. that Robert Allitsen was the only one there Unconcerned and unmoved? She had seen him in u different light amongst his friends, the country folks, but it was just a glimpse which had not lasted long. The young heartedness, ! the geniality, the sympathy which had so astonished her during their day'£ outing, astonished her still . more by their total disappearance. The grufTness had returned; or had it never been absent? The.loveless-, ness and leadenness of his tempera -1 ment had once more asserted them-! selves; or was it that they had never •'for one single day boon in the back- j ground? These thoughts passed through her mind as her sat next to her read- j ing his paper—that paper which he never passed to any one. She hard-1 ened her heart against him; there was no need for ill-health and disap-: pointment to have brought any one ] to a miserable state of indifference like that. Then she looked at hjs : wan face and frail form, and her heart softened at once. At the mo- 1 ment when her heart softened to him. ! he astonished hpr by handing her j his paper. “Here is something to interest you,” he said, "an article on Realism in Fiction, or some nonsense like that. You needn’t read it now. I don’t want the paper again.” “T thought you never lent anything,” she said, as she glanced at the article, "much less gave it.” “.Giving and lending are not usually in my line,” he replied. -‘H think T told you once that I thought selfishness perfectly desirable and legitimate, if one had made the one great sacriffee." “Yes,” she said eagerly; “I have often wondered what you considered the one great sacrifice. ” “Come out into the air,” he an- _ swerod, “and I will tel 1 you. ” —■ ...j She went to out on her hat and cloak, and found him waiting for her at the head of the staircase. They passed out into the beatiful night, the sky was radiantly bejewelled, the air crisp and cold, and harmless to do ill. In the distance, the yodelling of some peasants. In the hotels, the fun and merriment, side by side, with the suffering and hopelessness. In the deaconess’s house, the body of the Dutchman. In God's heavens God's stars. Robert Allitsen and Bernardine walked silently for some time. j “Well,” she said! “now tell me.” “The one great sacrifice,” he said half to himself, “is the going on liv- I ing one’s life for the sake of another, ’ when everything that would seem to make life acceptable has been wrenched away, not the pleasures, but the duties, and the possibilities of expressing one's energies, either in one direction or another; when,in fact, living is only a long tedious dying. If one has made this sacrifice. everthing else may be forgiven.” . He pansed -a-mament, -and then ' continued: l “I have made this sacrifice, therefore I consider I have done mv part without flinching. The greatest thing I had to give up. I gave up: my death. M ire could not be re- 1 quired of any one.” He paused again, and Bernardine wa 1 * silept from mere awe. ‘ “But free lorn comes at last," he said, “and some day I shall be free. When my, mother dies, I shall b? frett, She is old. If I were to die, I should break her heart, or rather she would fancy that her heart was broken. (And it comes to the same thing.) And I should not give her more grief than she has had. So I am just waiting. It mav be months, or weeks, or years. But I know how to wait; if I have not learned anything else, I have learnt to wait. And then ” Bernardine had unconsciously put her haind r.ti his arm; her face was full of suffering. i

BY BEATRICE HARRADEN.

“And then?” she asked with almost painful eagerness. “And then I shall follow your Dutchman's example, I ' —he said deliberately. Bernardine’s hand fell from the Disagreeable Man’s arm. She shivered. : -• “‘You are cold, you little thing.” ho said almost tenderly for him. “You are shivering. “Was I? ” she said, with a short laugh. “I was wondering when you would get your freedom,and whether you would use it in the fashion you now intend.” “‘Why should there be any doubt?” he asked. “One always hopes there will be a doubt,” slie said, half in a whisper. Then he looked up, and saw all the pain on the little face. CHAPTER XII. THE DISAGREEABLE MAN MAKES A LOAN, The Dutchman was buried in the little cemetery which faced the hospital. Marie’s tin wreath was placed on the grave. And there the matter ended. The Kurhaus guests recovered from their depression; the German Baroness returned to her buoyant vulgarity, the little danseuse to her busy flirtations. The French Marchioness, celebrated in Parisian circles for her domestic virtues,from which she was now taking a holiday, and a very considerable holiday,too, gathered her nerves together again and took renewed pleasure in the society of the Russian gentleman. The French Marchioness had already been requested to leave three other hotels in Petershof; but it was not at all probable that the proprietors of the Kurhaus would have presum morality or immorality. The Kurhaus committee had a benign indulgence for humanity—provided, of course, that humanity had a purse-—an indulgence which some of the English hotels would not have done badly to imitate. There was a story afloat, concerning the English quarter, that a tired little English lady, of no im- ; portance to look at. probably not : rich, and probably not handsome, came to the most respectable hotel in Petershof, thinking to find there < the peace and quiet which her weariness required. j But no one knew who the little lady was, whence she had come, and ! why. She kept entirely to herself, 'and was thankful for the luxury of ; lonelinesk after sune overwhelming ! sorrow. - i One day she was requested to go. ■ The proprietor of the hotel was disj tressed, but he could not do otherj wise than comply with the demands ! of his guests. j "It is not known who you are,Mademoiselle, ”he said. “And you are not approved of. You English are curious people. What can Ido? You have a cheap room, and are a stranger to me. The others have expensive apartments, and come year after year. You see my position, Mademoiselle? lam sorry.” So the little tired lady had to go. That was how the story went. It was not known what became of her, but it was known that the English people in the Kurhaus tried to persuade her to come to them. But she had lost heart; and left in distress. This could not have happened in the Kurhaus. where all were received on equal terms, those about whom nothing was known, and those about whom too much whs known. The strange mixture and the contrasts of. ycharacter afforded endless scope for observation and amusement, and Bernardine, who was daily becoming more interested in her surroundings, felt that she would have been sorry to have exchanged her present abode for the English quarter. The amusing part of it was that the English people in the Kurhaus were regarded by their compatriots in the English quarter as sheep of the blackest dye! This ■ was all the more ridiculous because ' with two exceptions—firstly of Mrs. Reffold, who took nearly all her I pleasures with the American colony - in the Grand Hotel: and secondly, of a Scotch -widow who had returned to Petershof to weep over her husband's grave, but put away her grief together with her widow’s weeds, and consoled herself with a Spanish gentleman —with these two exceptions, the little English community in the Kurhaus was most humdrum 4ind harmless, being occupied, as in 1 the ea g O of t.hft Disagreeable Man, i with cameras and cheese-mites, or in : other cases with the still more engrossing pastime of taking care of one’s ill health, whether real or fancied: but yet, an innocent hobby in 1 itself, and giving one absolutely no ; leisure to do anything worse; a great recommendation for any pas- ‘ time. This was nbt Bernardine's occupation, it was difficult to say what she did with herself, for she had not yet followed Robert Allltsen’s advice and taken up some definite wo,rk; and the very fact that she had no such wish, pointed probably to a state of health which forbade it. She. naturally so keen and hardworking, was content to take what the hour brought, and the hour brought various things; chess with the Swedish professor, or Russian dominoes with theshriveled-up little Polish governess who always tried to cheat, and who clutched her tiny , winnings with precisely the same

greediness shown by the Monte Carlo female gamblers. * Or the hour brought a stroll with the French danseuse and her poodle, and a conversation about the more trivialities of life, which a year or two, or even a few months ago, Bernardine would have condemned as beneath contempt, but which were now taking their rightful plade in her new standard of importance. For some natures leapt wjtih greater difficulty and after greater delay than others, that the real importances of our existence are the nothingnesses of every-day life, the nothingnesses which the philosopher in his study, reasoning —about and analyzing human character, is apt to overlook; but, Which, nevertheless, make him and everyone else more of a human” reality and less of an abstraction. And Bernardine, hitherto occupied with so-called intellectual. pursuits, with problems of the study, of no value to the great world outside the study, or with social problems of the great world, great movements, and great questions, was now just beginning to appreciate the value of the little incidents of that same great world. Or, the hour brought its own thoughts, and Bernardine found herself constantly thinking of the Disagreeable Man; always in sorrow and always with sympathy, and sometimes with tenderness. When he told her about the one sacrifice, she could have wished to wrap him round -with love and tenderness. If he could only have known it, he had never been so near love as then. She had suffered so much herself, and, with increasing weakness, had so wished to put off the burden of the flesh, that her whole heart went out to him. Would he get his freedom, she wondered, and would he use it? Sometimes when she was with him, she would look up to see whether she could read the answer in his face; but she never saw smy variation of expression there, nothing to give her even a suggestion. But this she noticed: that- there was a marked variation in his manner, and that when he had been rough in bearing, ior bitter in speech, he made silent amends at the earliest opportunity by being less rough and less bitter. She felt this was no small concession on the part of the Disagreeable Man. He was particularly disagreeable on the day when the Dutchman was buried, and so the following day when Bernardine met him in the little English library, she was not ' surprised to find him almost kindly. He had chosen the book which she I wanted, but he gave it up to her at once without any grumbling, though Bernardine expected him to change his mind before they left the library. “Well,” he said, as they walked along together, '“and have you recovered from the death of the Dutchman?” * - “Have you recovered, rather let me ask?” she said. “You were in a horrid mood last night.” “I was feeling wretchedly ill.” he said quietly. That was the first time he had ever alluded to his own health. “Not that there is any need to make an excuse,” he continued, “for I do not recognize that there is any necessity to consult one’s surroundings, one’s mind accordingly. Still, as a matter of fact, I felt very ill.” “And to-day?” she asked. “To-dav I am myself again,” he answered quickly; “that usual normal of mine, whatever that may mean. I slept well and I dreamed of you. I can’t say that I had been thinking of you, because I had not. But I dreamed that we were children together, and playmates. Now that was very odd, because, I was a lonely child and never had any playmates.” “And I was lonely, too,” said Bcrnardine. “Every one is lonely,” he said, “but every one does not know it.” “But now and again the knowledge comes like a revelation,” she said, “and we realize that we stand practically alone, out of any one's reach for help or comfort. When you come to think of it, too, bow little able we are to explain ourselves. When you have wanted to say something which was burning within you Ijave you not noticed on the face of the listener that unmistakable look of non-com-prehension which throws you back ou yourself? That is one of the moments when the soul knows its own loneliness.” Robert Allitsen looked at her. “You little thing,” he said, “you put things neatly sometimes. You have felt, haven’t you?” “I suppose so,” she said. “But that is true of most people.” “I beg your pardon,” he answered, “most people neither think nor feel, unless they think they have an ache, and then they feel it.’ _ ‘Tbelieve r ”saidßernardme. “that, there is more thinking and feeling than one generally supposes.” “Well, I can’t be bothered with that now.” he said. “And you interrupted me about my dream. That is an annoying habit you have.” “Go on,” she said. “I apologize.” “1 dreamed we were children together, and playmates,” he continued. “We were not at all happy together, but still we were playmates. There was nothing we'did not quarrel about. You were disagreeable and I was spiteful. Chi’* greatest dispute was over a Christmas tree. And that was odd, too, for I have never, seen a Christmas tree.” “Well,” she said, for he had paused. ■ What a long time you take to tell a storv.” \ “You were not called Bernardine,” he said. “You were called by some ordinary sensible name. I don’t remember what. But you were very disagreeable. That I remember

well. At last you disappeared and la went about looking for you. ‘lf J can find something «_• cause a quar-. rel,’ I said to myself, ‘she will coirn I back.’ So I went and smashed youi doll’s head. But you did not come back. Then I set fire td your doll’s. house. ‘ But even that did not brine ! you back. brought you back. That was my dream. I hop< you are mot offended. Not that it makes any difference if you are.” •i Bernardine laughed. “I am sorry that I should have been such an unpleasant playmate,’ she said. “It was a good thing I die disappear,”-" “Perhaps it was,” he said. “There would have been a terrible scene about that doll’s head. An odd thing for me to dream about Christmas trees and dolls and playmates, especially when I went to sleep thinking about iny new camera.” . “You have a new camera?” she asked. “Yes,'' he answered, “and a beauty, too. Would you like tc sec it?” She expressed a wish to see it, anti when they reached the Kurhaus she went with him to his beautiful room, where he spent his time in the company of his microscope and his chemical bottles and his photographic possessions. “If you will sit down and look at those photographs I will make you some tea,” he said. There is the camera, but please do not touch it until lam ready to show it myself.” She watched him preparing the tea: lie did everything so daintily, this Disagreeable Man. He put a handkerchief on the table to serve for an afternoon tea cloth, and a tiny vase of violets formed the center piece. He had no cups, but he polished up two tumblers, and no housemaid could have been more particular about their glossiness. Then he boiled the water and made the tea. j Once she offered to help him, but he j shook his head. “Kindly not to interfere,” he said, grimly. “No one can make tea better than I can.” ' After tea. they began the Inspection of the new camera, -and Robert Allitsen showed her all the newest improvements. He did not seem to think much of her intelligence, for he explained everything as though he were talking to a child, until Bernardine rather lost patience. “You need not enter into such elaborate explanations,” she suggested. “I have a small amount oi intelligence, though you do not seerr to detect it.” | He looked at her as one might look at an impatient child. | “Kindly not interrupt me,” he replied, mildly. “How very impatient you are! And. how restless! Whal must vou have been like before you fell ill?” (to be continued.)

Seen In New York Stores.

Dry Goods Economist. Engraved silver chatelaine pin? for small watches. Small letter openers of pearl oi pearl and silver combined. Candlesticks of silver, plain,fros tec or elaborately engraved. Music racks of tinted basket straw in green and pold colorings. Silver cigarette cases ornamented with the owner’s monogram. Black moire jackets finished with embroidered white silk re vers. Military buckles of gilt or silver in square, oblong or round shape. Capes of black silk bengaliue trimmed with chiffon ruffles headed by jet. Large hats trimmed with flowers and wired wings of cream guipure lace. Card cases and portfolios of kangaroo and lizard skin mounted with silver. * ; Blouse bodices composed of alternate stripes of ribbons and lace insertings. Blouse bodices of pongee silk finished in the front with a detachable jabot. White Canton silk drapery scarfs embroidered with Japanese gold threads. Dresser scarfs of hemstitched linen showing Grecian figures in open drawn work. Large fancy straw hats of yellow tint trimmed with daisies and moss green ribbon. Ladies’ yachting hats of white Pahama straw decorated with white colored ribbons. Short jackets made of brown or tan covert cloth finished with large pearl buttons. Embroidered chiffon shades for banquet lamps, ornamented with artificial flowers. Children’s white lawn Gretchen dresses trimmed with “Val.” lace and narrow ribbons. satin showing transparent strips of lace inserting. Children’s frocks of maize colored India muslin with richly embroidered seif trimmings. Bedspreads of Irish linen worked in tapestry designs in shades of blue, green and brown. Sleeveless coats made of rich pequ de sole trimmed with lengthwise in sertings of jetted net. Bolero corset covers of fine cambric trimmed with Hamburg edging and narrow headings. , Pointed Louis XV bodices of tnousseline de soie. richly embroidered with beads and tinsel. Summer gowns of taffeta glace silk in small check, trimmed with velvet ribbon, for day wear. Blouses and shirts for ladies outing wear of silk or cambric, trimmed with lace and embroidery. | Light woolen materials in small patterns, spots or checks, with silk stripes for mourning wear.

A REMINISCENCE.

Detroit Free Press. “Talkin’ of grasshoppers,” said the man on the cracker box, “reminds me of the scourge of 1872, when the country out here was overrun by them pesky critters. Nobody knew whar they come from and nobody knew whar they went to, for they came without warnin’ an’ they left in the same fashun. I hed kept my weather eye peeled for a week, but naryla hopper did I see, when I heard as how they were at Blair an’ cornin' lickety split for Decatur.” “Them were lively times,”’ said tong Jim. the stage driver. “Lor! how scared the wimmin were with them jumping critters.” “-It were afore I married the widder.” continued the man on the cracker box, ‘’when I was livin’ with my sister after she came out here, ah’ I had a right smart of cabbage in the field by the house, an’ I warn't a goin’ to let no pack of measly grasshoppers eat ’em up, not if I knowed it. I heard after sundown as they had struck Blair, an I jes set to work ati’ covered every one of them cabbages up with blankets and comfortables.” “An’ I’ll bet you didn’t save a one, aot a one,” suggested Long Jim. "It’s right you are. I didn’t. When [ got up in the mornin’ the field was as bare as if it had been struck by a cyclone; not a thing left of them cabbage but the stalks in the ground. The hoppers had jes eaten the coverin' an’ the cabbages like so much provender an’ gone off to another country. I nearly cried over them cabbages.” “‘Toll us about them in tho oars," laid Long Jim. “This gentleman from the East ain’t never seen the like.” “They stopped the ears more times than you could counton your fingers by gitting on the., tracks an’ maltin' them slippery, actin’ like so much grease. An’ onct -gentlemen, you nay not believe it, but it’s gospel truth—they pulled the bell an’ the engineer stopped the car stock still, (t were this a-way, for 1 were there ind see it myself. The conductor came into the car when it stopped, in’ he says, savs he: “ ‘Who pulled that bell rope?’ Everybody was scared, ’ceptme, an’ [spoke up an’ says: “ ‘The hoppers did it.’ “ ‘Don’t talk foolishness,’ says the conductor. ‘I don’t ’low no galoot to tend to my duties. When this train is stopped, I do it myself. Don’t none of you ever tetch that bell rope agin.’ “ Td like to see ennvone tetch it now,’ says 1, an’ I pin ted it out to aim weighted down with hoppersTts thick as a constrictor snake after it bad swallowed a calf, an’ the ear bell i-ringin like mad.” “ ‘Holy Moses,’ he says, and looked ?cairt, but it were a fact just the same Them hoppers - followed into the stage, and we sat there knee :leep in ’em. Scairt? No, not much to speak of. You see, them wasn't the seventeen-year locusts with a big “W” on their backs. These here critters wereleetle slim things, kind of a brown green, but Lord, how they did eat things! We folks had skeeter nets in our winders, and in two minutes after them hoppers struck us it hung in strips and threads, an’ they were swarmin’ round the house like flies.” “If they come agin.” said Long Jim, “I’d jest fill up every growin’ thing with pizen, an’ then when the hoppers were all dead I'd burn ’em and use ’em for fertilizers.” “Yer mought,” said the man on the cracker box with a thoughtful look, “if they sent cards a-savin’ they was cornin’. But when they steal on ver like a thief in the night, you carn't most always carkerlate just, what you would do. I’m lay in’ for ’em this year, but they ain’t sent m no advance agent with plan of campaign, as yet.” And he enveloped himself in a blue haze of smoke that forbade liseussion.

Legislation for the Forest Reserves.

Harper's Weekly. The action of tho Federal governnent in setting aside certain large tracts of the public forest lands in the West as “reserves” was outlined recently in these columns. Likewise the value of thesd vast forests was referred to in their relation to thp great irrigating systems of the West and their utility in supplying future timber demands. As therein renarkdd, the mere creating these reserves was but an incomplete meas are, unlbss some permanent system of Federal forestry was also soon adopted. At present the reserves are under the conTroToT the Land Office of the Department of the Interior, subject only to such limited care as its agents can bestow, which is slight. In the case of tho Yellowstone Park, since 188 H. when Congress neglected to provide a salary for the superintendent, it has been under the charge of a detail from the United States army. It was a fortunate neglect of Congress, as it gave an opportunity to demonstrate the efficiency of a disciplined body in enforcing regulations, and preventing Jepredations. Extensive illegal hunting was stopped, squatters evicted, the forests preserved from Jestructive fire, and tourists protected. Every official report corroborates the completeness with which the military carried out this new duty. Last summer the army was sought by the Secretary of the Interior for details to. protect from depredations some of the reserves. The acting Judge Advocate gave an

opinion that it was not lawful to employ troops upon such duty unless expressly directed by Congress. Under this decision it seems that the details that have hitherto guarded, except • during the winter months, the Yellowstone, Ypsemite, Sequoia, and General Grant parks will be withheld this year. A bill now before Congress in reference to the public forests authorizes tho Secretary of War to furnish details of troops upon requisition 61 the Secretary of the Interior to protect these reservations. But why not carry the subject a step further, as has been suggested by forest advocates, and reach the heart of the question? Substitute a bill placing the public forests that are withdrawn from public entry by settlers absolutely under the control of the army. Commence at the beginning and make forestry a department at West Point, with a portion of the conveniently situated Higlands as an experimental station. Provide for assigning a portion of the graduates of the Academy each year to command a specially enlisted forestry guard to carry out a system of practical and scientific forestry upon these reservations. It is ventured to predict, the more one will find in it a simple and logical solution of a pending vital question. It furnishes a new field of activity to the army; it insures fidelity to the national interests. It would give permanency and capability at once to the forestry svstem.

SHE HAD HER WEIGH.

It Was a Posthumous Triumph, But It Was Hers All the Same. Indianapolis Journal. “When a woman makes her mind up to anything,” said the man with the ginger beard, “they ain’t no way of perventin’ her from reachin’ the end she aims at.”—l_ “Thouten she dies, of course,” remarked the grocer. “It does look to me,” said the man with the ginger beard to the rash interpreter, “like you have the most j natural gift of tollin’ what you don’t — 1 know every time you open your mouth of any man I ever knowed. I will admit,” continued the man with the ginger beard, as the grocer assumed an humbled expression, “that you are all right in the grocery business. Fact is, a man would have to be rather smooth to make a livin’, out of the kind of stock you keep. Now, the time you explained the hair bein’ in the butter because the butter i wasn’t strong enough to hold itself together without it, was plum good. Howsoinever, it looks like rain an’ I can’t waste no more time on you. Now, this here woman — “Which woman?” “This here woman I was thinkin’ of when I spoke was just like all the j rest of ’em; when her mind was. sot, lit was sot. Pore thing, she had to , die to git her own way, but She got I it,” T_ZI ! “Love affair?” asked the man from Potato Creek, who had a romantic streak in his mental composition. ! “Love affair, nothin’. She was rnarrit to her third husband. They hadn’t be&n rnarrit fer more’n a week, before man begins twittin’ her ’cause she was so thin,: an’ wonderin’ why the Lord couldn’t a seen fit to make her weigh as much as his first wife. “How much did the dear angel weigh?” she asked I him, kinder sarcastic like, one day, when they had been jawin’ a little; more than common. “Jist exactly 155 pounds,’ says he. “ ‘Well,’ says she, ‘l’m a-goin’ to git to that weight if it takes me a hundred years.’

“Howsomever, 'stead of giftin' any fatter, she gits thinner and thinner right along, till at last she up and dies. ‘Well,’ says the old man, ’seems like she didn’t git to that there weight she started fer after all. I guess she weighed near-er"iifty-five than ahundred and fiftyfive.’ But that’s all he knowed about it. About two years after they was a boom in real estate, and the old graveyard turnin’ out to be pretty good town lots, the folks had to move this here woman among the rest. When they come to dig her up she had patrified.” ‘•Petrified, I suppose you mean,” said the school teacher. “Anyhow, I mean she had turned to rock. An’ just fer curiosity they weighed her. Funny thing too. She come exactly to that there 155 pounds she alles said she’d git,' and they won’t never nobody make me believe that she didn’t know what she was doing all the time.”

Could Take More.

London Globe. A gentleman who was having a new house built in Ireland receutly went to see how it was getting on. Finding the fabric deserted, he went to the nearest public house, where he discovered the entire staff of workmen,foreman and all, encamped round a wilderness of empty glasses. Being a man of conciliatory temper he genially observed; “Well, boys, are yqu still thirsty?” Whereupon one of the number replied: “Well, sor, that dipinds entirely upon you.” Circumvention. “My wife and I had a lively discussion last night.” said the mild mannered man. “But I got the last word.” I “You don’t say so!” I “Yes. She acknowledged it herself this morning." “How did you manage it?” “Talked in my sleep.” A New York girl has a $20,000 doll house.