Richmond Palladium (Daily), Volume 35, Number 49, 27 December 1909 — Page 3

OUR SHORT STORY PAGE

SQUEEZING THE LEMON By Wm. Hamilton Osborne

(Copyright 1909, by Benj. B. Hampton.) IMMY ELPHINSTONE, of the New Jersey J bar, deposited his savings in New York for a very good and sufficient reason. The savings banks in his home town paid three per cent; the Hudson River Savings Bank in Manhattan paid four. One day he strode into the private room of Billy Olds, his partner, and exhibited his bank book to him. "Three thousand dollars," said Billy Olds Jerusalem ! I wish I owned that book. As it is, 1 haven t eot three hundred." , "Oh" returned Elphinstone, senior partner of Elphinstone & Olds, "it'll come it'll come, my boy. Olds leaned back in his revolving chair and glanced out of the window. Elphinstone was young-hirtv-five at the outside; Olds was a bit younger. Elphinstone was clever, sharp, short, very energetic Olds was stolid, slow, somewhat stupid, remarkably long winded. Elphinstone, as one might say, was a greyhoundOlds a mastiff. Yet both these men had an SnlirnitVd capacity for hard work. For the scatter law business in the town they led the bar, perhaps This meant that the two were doing a business of seven thousand dollars a year, gross; good money in that Jerser town for a law partnership of ten years St ""jimmy Elphinstone," said William Olds as he looked across the street "I take off my hat to you You've got three thousand in the savings bank. You ve got a god house, with the building loan association mortgage of five years old upon it and dwindling all he time" He rubbed his hand across his forehead. "Oh.'taSt come, Bill; don't you worry," SrliTTlnr returned Olds uncertainly, "but what with the children. You haven't got any children That's an expense you haven t got, you know. "Sure " returned Elphinstone, "there's just Miriam and myself!" He went back to his own room and shut the door, and stared at the bank book. Yes. he had done well. And he knew why. A law partnership is a peculiar thing. Sometimes, as in the case of Elphinstone & Olds, it wasn't a real partnership at all They divided their expenses, these two men, and took care of each other's clients in emergencies, that was all They called themselves by the firm name, ?nd backed iff their law papers with it. But Elphinstone had his business, and Olds had his. And Elphinstone had known somehow how to get the business and how to handle it once he had it. But as for 01"Well." he'll never make it,--never," James Elphinstone told his young wife that night He tossed the bank book over. "Just look at that." he said Then he smiled. "Miriam, I'm through saving for the present. The next Jhousand that we get, we 11 take that trip ,0We could have gone to Europe three times over on this money," said Elphinstone s wife. I m glad we didn't," she sighed. "It was hard work saving it, she added. , , u , . He nodded. "Four per cent," he mused, and if we don't draw the interest it will keep on compounding, though we'll have to put the surplus m another four-per-cent bank over in New York ... I landed that partition suit to-day." ..... iU- 1 It was time now, Miriam agreed with him, to think about fun about a trip to Europe about a motor car. He watched other people. He began to think. He watched men. A strange bee began to buzz within his brain! . . . , , One dav he heard Patricia, the cook, singing in high-voiced tones out in the kitchen : Let the women do the work do the work, Do the work Let the m-e-e-n take it e-e-easy. And Elphinstone began humming the song as she sang. Suddenly, while the tune kept on, the words changed in his own mind. Let your money do the work, do the work, do the work. That was the keynote. That was sum and substance of his meditations of months. "Let your money do the work." He couldn't get it out of his head. Let the men take it easy Let your money do the work, do the work, do the work." Wall Street that was the trick. He smiled as he thought of it. Not the Wall Street that gulled the people; not the Wall Street that the papers talked about, but business Wall Street, common-sense Wall Street that was the solution. He talked it over with Miriam. She assented. He went over to Exchange Place to see Marchbank, Moore & Co. They were brokers and they were safe. "What do you think?" he asked of Marchbank. Marchbank nodded. "Yes," said Marchbank slowly, "you can make a living over here. You can do it safely on twenty-five per cent margins. We can take care of you. But you ought to watch the market every day every hour, every minute. You must be Johnny-on-the-Spot. You must watch the market. You must know the business." It sounded good., It sounded easy. Watch the market. That meant leaning back in leather chairs in Marchbank's office. It meant going into the gallery on 'Change upon occasions of excitement. It meant Miriam's coming over in the afternoon after the close and taking supper up at Goulet's or the Hotel La Reine. It meant meeting big men, men of business. It meant ease, with a goodly dash of cleverness thrown in. Marchbank's words had reassured him. He had always felt shy of Wall Street. But, after all, the people who lost were the people, on the one hand, who were trying to make too much on too little ; and on the other hand, the people who didn't know. "What do you want to buy or sell?" asked Marchbank. "I thought you'd tell me that," suggested their young client. "We'd like to hear from you," returned Marchbank, smiling. Elphinstone thought for a moment. "Tripper," he finally announced. Tripper was T. R. & P., in the public eye a very doubtful stock. "Sell," queried Moore. "Buy," announced Elphinstone. Marchbank laughed aloud, as though with glee. "YouH do," he said to Elphinstone; "you've hit the nail upon the head. You've got the Wall Street instinct, Elphinstone." "I've got a thousand dollars margin," Elphinstone announced, and produced the cash. They took it, gave him their receipt, and bought as much Tripper for him as the thousand safely could carry on its shoulders.

uwt rcmcmDcr. oo mey toia mm, business is

Business. l-nendship doesnt count for a farthing in this office. You've got to keep your margin good. If you don t we sell von out. that's all . wi k-

understand that at the start.

"I know," returned Elphinstone. "Ill take care of that A week later Moore rushed into him as he sat in the big room m a leather chair. It was twelve o'clock. Moore shook his head. "Tripper's going down beyond Ihe danger line, Jim," he said, "and the old man insists. We've got to have another thousand by this afternoon." Elphinstone telephoned to Miriam. He had to telephone three times. "You'll have to bring that savings-bank book over," as informed her. She brought it over. In the interim se felt little shivers chasing themselves up and down bis spine. He couldn't eat lunch. He had to work ut a mighty problem. Should he lose his thousand br should be risk another? It had taken years to save fr.at tncney years. His life blood and Miriam's had

gone into the Hudson River Savings Bank. Miriam started when she saw him. "Why, you're positively thin," she told him. He drew the money and paid Marchbank the thousand that he wanted. And Miriam and he went uptown that afternoon and dined at Goulet's and saw Gertrude TolliveY in Sidney Brock's tragedy, "The Despair of Lady Whiteside.' When it was over neither Miriam nor her husband could tell the other what it was all about. "I was thinking of that thousand," Miriam said. And he was, too. The next day Tripper went to 70 and Elphinstone put up his last thousand. Three weeks later he took his profits six hundred and thirty dollars. "Only six hundred and thirty dollars," Miriam complained, "and you risked three thousand. And all that worry." Elphinstone smiled. "Six hundred and thirty on three thousand in three weeks isn't so bad, my dear. But you're right. Next time I won't sail quite so close to the wind. Though it was safe, and Marchbank knew, and I knew that it couldn't go below 70. That was as sure as fate. And it didn't. Miriam was reading the quotations. "Oh, Jim," she exclaimed, "if you had held out till to-day you would have made twelve hundred instead of six hundred. Look." He looked, with steadied nerves. He smiled, "You are thinking of the public's Wall Street," he said. I don't take chances. I take small profits. I take small risks or I shall hereafter. And I watch the market. That's the real Wall Street." Elphinstone knew. He was quite right about it. It was not a lottery in which he was engaging; it was a business. And it all took time. His Tripper deal had covered only three weeks. But safe stocks in which he dealt often didn't move for months. At the end of a year he found that he had made a bit over five thousand dollars. And he knew that with double his margin he could double his money. "We'll sell the house," he said to Miriam. "What!" she gasped. "Yes," he insisted; "there's money in it." "Where shall we go?" Elphinstone smiled. They were hitting the pace at last. "An apartment in the Atalanta," he returned She gasped again. The Atalanta was the apartment house in the big overgrown Jersey town in which they lived. The Atalanta meant rents at from $1,200 to $1,500 a year. It meant more. It meant a secure position in society. This was the commencement, in earnest, of their play ; it was the beginning of ease ; the lure of the lazy life was upon them both. Elphinstone began to dress very well. He rose at eight in the morning. He boarded the club car on the 9.15 for New York, with such of the Wall Street men as lived in his town, John G. Byrne, Daniel Keogh, and Ormsby, the local private banker. It was worth while. Elphinstone knew that these men were worth while. And they began to find out that Elphinstone was worth while. He was conservative, and they came, finally, to seek his judgment. His opinion was always safe and sound. Ormsby, the local banker, came to depend upon it almost entirely. "Buy this," Elphinstone would say, "or sell that." And he was always right, because he was always sure. At the end of his second year he took a long breath. Ahead of him was still his ambition, though enlarged. He thought perhaps that he would die worth a hundred thousand. His money certainly had made money. And he had followed Marchbank's advice. He had clung to Wall Street; it had become his business. Every day he was in his place. Once in a while he stopped in to see Billy Olds. Billy was beaming. There was not a cloud on Billy's brow. "Gee!" said Billy. "Old man, you're getting thin." "You're not," ventured Elphinstone. Billy opened the drawer of his desk. "What do you think, Jim," he said; "just look at that." It was a savings-bank book. And it was evidence of the fact that Bill Olds had saved two thousand five hundred dollars cold, hard cash. "I thought I'd never do it," said Olds, wiping his brow with the pleasure of it; "and some day '111 buy a house and lot.' He frowned. "Perhaps," he added doubtfully. On his way home Elphinstone smiled. Twenty-five hundred dollars seemed so trifling to him now. True, his capital of eight thousand had dwindled to six. He had had a couple of losses. But that six thousand itself was making him six thousand a year good, safe, steady money, and in a year or so well, he would see he knew. It was the fourth winter that he was taken sick. Nervous strain, his physician said. He lost about three months, and they had to go South, Miriam and he well, that was a part of the easy life, too. But he didn't rest well in the South. He wanted to get back to Wall Street. "My money isn't working when I'm away," he wouldsay to Miriam. It was the following year that they bought their motor car, a modest one. but a good one. He and Miriam didn't splurge. They had no overweening social ambitions. They went around a little, and saw the right kind of people. Billy Olds and his wife they usually found at the houses in their town where they went. Billy kept him posted. "I . . . we've bought a house," Billy stammered one night. He flushed. "It's ridiculous," he went on. "I am now just about where you were six years ago. Jim. And you've made a barrel of money since, haven't you? Well, I suupose it's up to some people to be stupid, some to be clever. Some of us have got to work for a living, and for some, like you, it's the easy life."

cipmnstone laugned. "(Jet your money to work. Billy, he advised. Billy only sighed and shook his head. I'm not clever," he admitted. "Now," Miriam said to Elphinstone on their way home one night., "now that we've got our motor car, the next thing is that trip to Europe." "We've been going to take that for the last twelve years," assented Elphinstone, "and we'll take it. ItH cost us about two or three thousand, and just as soon as I can " "I thought we could do it for a thousand," answered Miriam. "A thousand!" he exclaimed; "whv, you can hardly do Palm Beach for a thousand. Yes", I'll make a little strike some day and well take that trip." He laughed. 'That trip will feel like the end of the world. After that trip, what next. I wonder." Miriam sighed. "Then we'll just lean back and live," she said. She. too. was tired. She was excited. She watched Wall Street. She made fortunes and unmade them, in her mental speculations, poring over the papers. She loved it It was big. She loved it because Jimmy was a part of it all. And Elphistone went his wav .becoming more cautious, careful, studious every day. He held his nose to the grindstone. The gray crept into his hair, making him more handsome than ever. He was a machine. He never stopped. For he had one purpose in this world, and that was, to let money make monev. ,Vtltwls hard work- One spring the public came into all Street with a rush. Elphinstone had waited patiently for the public to come. The public meant activity in safe stocks. Profits had been horriblv small Vat- j H,s faPita. too. had dwindled just a bit more he had used some of it living the easy life. He and Miriam had to keep up the pace, of course, such as it was But now the public, like a spring freshet, deluged Wall Street after a hard winter and softened things up. Jimmy Elphinstone and Marchbank. Moore & Co. got their heads together, and Jimmy sold out what he had at a slight loss and put up everything he had as margin on a deal in Inter-State & Tri-State that the

puwic tins trnie had taken a notion to attack. Jimmy sold steadily for three days. Then, long before Is and

Tis, as they called it, had reached the bottom, he began to buy. In three more days Is and Tis had soared, as he knew it would, and Elphinstone made three thousand clean on an investment of about five. "Now," he told Miriam, "we'll pull up stakes for a while and well take that trip to Europe. Yes." He told Billy Olds about the trip. Some years had elapsed since Billy Olds had saved his two thousand five hundred dollars, and Billy sniffed when he heard

about a trip to Europe. He shifted in his seat. "Say, Jim," he finally remarked, "do you think you'd mind if Isabel and I went with you? Eh? You know we need it, we really do." "Jimmy Elphinstone gasped. "Bill," he said, have you figured up the cost?" "Well," said Billy Olds, "I suppose it will cost us maybe fifteen, maybe twenty-five hundred. I don't know. But, by George, since you're going, blamed if we won't go." On the deck of the Mesopotamia one night Jimmy Elphinstone and Billy Olds sat and smoked and talked. The face of each was in the full glare of a ship's lantern on the deck. "By George, man," said Olds with a ring of friendship in his voice, "you needed this trip. You look old, old you look thin." "You don't," laughed Elphinstone. He was right. The face of Olds was as round and unwrinkled as that of a five-year-old boy. "I don't know why," sighed Olds. "I've worked hard hard. Jimmy," he said in a whisper, "you'll laugh at me, you bloated bondholder. But. do you know, my house is paid for. It's worth eight thousand as it stands. I built in a cheap time. And, Jim. I've got ten thousand dollars out on mortgage. And I've got five thousand in the savings banks, compounding. That's a bagatelle to you, Jimmy, but, by George, it's mighty big to me." Eliphinstone's face was immovable. "It is big," he assented; how did you get it?" Olds shrugged his shoulders. "Tended to business and saved. Sort of drudgery. But, well, hang it. Isabel and I are going to take it easy now." "Don't," laughed Elphinstone. Olds didn't understand. "Don't what?" he queried. When they parted. Olds held out his hand. "Tomorrow," Jimmy, he said, "I'm going to get you to tell me all about yourself and Wall Street. You can boast all you want to. It's nuts to me to hear about it. I wish." he sighed regretfully, "that I had been clever, too." Elphinstone went below. He switched on the light and looked at his face and the lines in his face in the little mirror above the washstand. "Billy Olds," he murmured, "he's got more than I've got ; he can buy more than I can buy ; he can go everywhere I can go. Why?" There ran through his head the tune he had formulated for himself years before: "Let your money do the work, do the work, do the work ; Let us take it e-e-easy." "Wall Street," he said aloud. The light woke Miriam, his wife. She yawned and sat up in bed. She had heard his words. "Well, Jimmy," she said happily, "Wall Street bought our trip to Europe for us, anyway. Didn't it?" He didn't answer. For the engines of the big liner were throbbing out their feverish melody: "Let your money do the work, do the work, do the work." "Let your money do the work, do the work, do the work." He didn't sleep that night. But Billy Olds did.

thein all. For Oliver Hawkins had known the AllenbyCarters intimately long before the bleak hour that brought the old man's complete loss of fortune and partial loss of mind. Poor Thomas! Ever since the crash came he had been unable to do much except admire his wife's coiffure and her few remaining jewels, and, strange as it may seem, play a remarkably good game of checkers with Oliver every evening. And this the two men had done all these years, with the precision that often becomes such an important part of old age. Oliver Hawkins was a very privileged person at Number 58. It was as though the house were his own home as indeed it was and he came and went as he wished. His room adjoined Thomas's on the top floor, and frequently over the transom he and the uld man would converse while he was dressing for dinner; for everyone at Mrs. Allenby-Carter's dressed each evening. It was a part of the established smartness there. On a particular evening in May, one of those warm spring nights that so often come in New York, Oliver was dressing with his usual care, and the door that led from his into Thomas's room was wide open. The windows near it were up, and vague noises from the street the sound of a hurdy-gurdy and the far cry of children's voices, betokening the approach of summer could be heard. "Ill be going away soon," Thomas was saying. "Martha told me so to-day. Is it June yet?" "No; only the eighteenth of May, but it seems just like summer," Oliver replied. "1 never saw the flowers so far ahead in the park. But then spring came early this vear." Oliver loved to talk. "I'll be glad to get away," Thomas went on. "The city grates on me the minute it begins to get warm. You know we never used to stay after the first of May, Oliver. You remember, don't you? Martha was always so particular about getting out of the city. She's going to send me alone this year, until she can join me later

She's awfully good to me; isnt she, Oliver?

on.

"You bet she is." aarrecd Oliver. He had finished

his toilet, and stepped through the door that divided their rooms, a paragon of neatness. He looked at Thomas, who was seated near the window, arranging with great deliberation the checkers on the board. Even so early as this he prepared for their evening game. As Oliver left the room a maid was coming up the stairs with Thomas's dinner on a tray, and looking back at his old friend, he saw him take from a drawer in the heavy oak secretary behind him a little metal box and lift from it a string of diamonds, which he seemed to gaze at long and fondly. Oliver had seen him do this very often; but a feeling of utter pity never failed to come over him at the picture of this quiet old man who would not meet his wife's "guests." as he chose to call them, but day after day and night after night sat in his far room, caring only about Martha's jewels the one relic of their days of affluence together and his evening game of checkers. How limited was the program in his strange life; but how absurdly happy he was, after all! Mrs. Allenby Carter stood at the foot of the stairway, just outside the drawing room, when Oliver came down. She seemed to be waiting for him. There was an odd mixture of worry and gladness on her face as she smiled up at him. He could not help observing it and speaking of it. "What's the matter, Martha? You seem both happy and sad." "What a lot you do notice! Really, Oliver, sometimes you're almost uncanny to me." "You have something on jour mind. Tell me what it is. He had followed her into the dimly lighted drawing-room. No one else was there, but boarders were passing in the hall every now and again on their

Pretty swell little woman that, eh, what?"

The Garrulous Hr. Hawkins By Chas. Hanson Towne.

Copyright 1909, fry Benj. B. Hampton

MRS. ALLEN BY-CARTER kept what is known as a fashionable boarding-house on Madison Avenue. Like many other women who take boarders, she possessed a husband who was, report had it, an incompetent, forsaken mortal, living somewhere on the top floor, wrapped in mystery and, no doubt, heavy blankets. Mrs. Allenby-Carter's patrician manner and appearance she always wore her abundant white hair piled high on her splendid head did not save her from the tragedy of a husband. But no one knew of his existence save the servants and Oliver Richard-Hawkins, who had "been with the AllenbyCarters, as he liked to phrase it for nineteen years, and was really an old family friend. Mr. Hawkins could remember the time when his landlady's hair was brown and glossy, and when pink was her color. He could have told yoa of days when old Carter not being in the least feeble mindedthere was great happiness and some little money for

way to the dining-room ifl the rear, and they spoke in a low tone. "I might as well tell you, Oliver; I suppose it will relieve my mind to let someone into my secret, and, of course, I can't tell Thomas. I lost heavily in some speculations the other day. I thought I had a good thing, but the market turned suddenly and " "And you were swamped. How much was it, Martha? Not a great deal, I hope." "I hate to tell you. It was more than I could afford to loose, anyhow." "Well, well ; that's too bad, I must say. For Heaven's sake, why do you do such things, Martha? I've told you again and again how foolish and risky it is. I've talked and talked to you " "I know it, Oliver. That's a failing of yours. Yoa can talk a lot" She had touched his sensitive point "Forgive me," she begged. "It's true enough, he admitted; but I only wish you'd listen to me once in a while.' "I wouldn't care so much, only the weather has grown warm, and I did want to send poor Thomas down to Long Island the end of this week. He hasn't been so well lately, and I think it would do him good to get out of the city." "Yes: its too bad; he has been soeakms about that

very thing to me just now. But I could let yon have

something, Martha ; you know I'd be only too glad to help yoa oat I've saved quite a good deal, as yoa know. I "

"Thanks, dear friend, but I haven't got to the point yet where I need borrow. I have that necklace still that Thomas always adored so the one he ktep in his room. 1 could sell that, or pawn it, if the wort happened. But what nonsense we're talking. My house is full so full that I'm putting a newcomer at your table to-night. There is no other place for her." "Her!" ejaculated Oliver in surprise. "Yes," laughed the other. A beautiful woman who came onlv this afternoon. She's a widow a Mrs. Seville, from Detroit. S.'iell be here only a few days. I'm sure you'll be glad to know her. Why, here she" . The sentence was never finished, for at that moment a tall, distinguished-looking woman entered the room. She was handsomely gowned, and carried herself so regally that Oliver gasped as at an apparition. The introduction was brief, and the delighted Oliver, with an almost pompous demeanor, proudly escorted Mrs. Seville to his little table. He found the Detroit widow a particularly delightful companion. After dinner he suggested to Mrs. Seville that they sit in the drawing room together, and to his astonishment his proposition met with her favor. His exit from the dining-room was as triumphant as his entrance had been. He even forgot, in his joy, the bald spot on the back of his head, which he" was always sickeningly conscious of when he left a room. They talked and talked or. as Oliver long after remembered, he talked and talked. Mrs. Seville was a remarkable woman, in that she preferred to listen to his voice rather than to her own. The clock on the mantel chimed ten before Oliver knew it and. with a start, he recollected poor Thomas, in the third floor back, sitting there with his checkerboard waiting for him. He jumped up so suddenly that Mrs. Seville was alarmed. "What is the matter?" she asked. "Why, I have forgotten Thomas. I must go to him. It's the first night I've missed in years, except when he's been away." "And who is Thomas, that he is a companion more to be sought than well than I?' demanded the engaging widow, smiling. Then Oliver explained. It took him a long time to do so. for he loved detail, and the clock had sounded the half -hour before he had finished. By that time it was too late for checkers, and Oliver suggested a little walk. They went out into the balmy night, and Oliver, to his surprise and delight discovered that a progressive roof-garden in the neighborhood had opened, owing to the fine weather: and thither they went. He did something which had not occurred to him in yearshe sipped green mint with his charming vis-a-vis. and, under its spell, talked as he had never talked before. He told Mrs. Seville, whose sympathetic attitude appealed so much to him. of his quiet evenings and busily prosperous days; of his ambitions and secret dreamt. And he told her. too, of Martha and Thomas, and of the old and enduring friendship between them. Before he left the roof -garden he had asked the widow to go with him to one of the musical comedies on the following evening. It was still running at the Casino and she had never heard it. In the morning it came over, him with shame that the engagement lie had made would again preclude his game of checkers with Thomas and between the acts that evening he made a confidante of the widow. "When I'm not there all hell do will be to play with his wife's diamond necklace. He's a regular baby, you know. Of course. I ought not to tell you this; but maybe you guessed it after what I said last night; he's slightly out of his mind, is poor Thomas and I'm foolishly fond of him. and he of me." Mrs. Seville smiled at Oliver's careless handling of phrases. "But it's queer that I haven't missed the checkers these two evenings !" He rambled on, only pausing when the curtain went up. He felt happy that he had not lost his little knack of turning a pretty compliment now and then. They went to supper after the performance. How fascinating she was and how beautiful! Many people turned and looked at her as they entered the restaurant Women had played such a small part in his life; he realized now what a lot he had missed. On the third day Oliver came uptown to luncheon, but ostensibly "to get some important papers in my desk," he glibly lied to Mrs. Allenby-Carter. who encountered him in the hall at the unusual hour of one o'clock in the afternoon. He wanted to see Mrs. Seville, if only for a few moment, and dinner-time was such a tremendously long way off. ' That night on his way home he bought some roses, and had them sent to her. It would be so wonderful to see her wear a few of them at dinner his flowers. Ah! the years were falling from him. He even bought a white carnation for himself. It would look well in his buttonhole. He crept to his room, and dressed without makinir the slightest sound, for he was ashamed to face Thomas. He descended the stairs feeling remarkably satisfied with his appearance. His step was buoyant his eyes alight Mrs. Allenby-Carter. very white, came out of bet room as he passed it She drew him within and partly closed the door. "Oliver," she whispered, "something awful has happened!" "What do you mean? Not Thomas?" "No. no! But Mrs. Seville has gone, without paying her bill, and oh, I hafc to tell you, Oliver, I do indeed, for I saw how interested you were in her everybody did, and " "What is it? Go on," said Oliver. "Why, she's stolen the necklace that dear eld string of diamonds that I'd counted on for an emergency ; and now my last hope of sending Thomas away has gone!" "You must be mad!" Oliver cried. "Why. Mm. Seville was a lady anyone could see that. There k some terrible mistake. You must not jump at conclusions. "I'm not It is only too true. She did it this afternoon while I was away, and Thomas was sleeping. Other things are missing, too. She was a plain thief that's alL What a fool I was to be deceived! She seemed so well-bred that I took her in unhesitatingly. Oh, Oliver, in't it awful?" Hawkins stood speechless before her. He could not believe what he had heard. Martha's voice came to him. "And now poor Thomas must stay in town, and "And you must .take that loan from me, and send him away; and you needn't ever pay me back, Martha ever, do you hear? Why, it was all my fault every bit of it I got so beastly chummy with her, fool thit I was." On his way down to the dining-room Oliver saw t big box of roses lying on a table in the hall, addressed to Mrs. Seville. . He sighed when he saw them. He tore the tag from them, and told one of the maids to take then: ztp to Mrs. AEenby-Carter. "With my compliments," be said, Then, in a mirror, he saw the white carnation :n Jus buttonhole. "You're all lands of a fool, Oliver Hawkins. fie said to his reflection in the glass, "all lands ot Z fbolj and, by gad, yoa talk too much!" and he 7 en ia 1c h'g solitary dinner.

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