Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 40, Number 40, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 24 January 1908 — The End of a Practical Joke [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The End of a Practical Joke

By EDWARD EVERETT HORTON

(Copyright.) "If you will keejj' ttulet and act like a rational being, my dear,” I say, somewhat Impatiently, to my young sister, "I will read the letter again. Listen: " 'Havana, Jan. JR. —My Dear Daughters: It Is with great gratification that I am able at last to accurately determine the date of my departure from this city for myi beloved Mary land home, which, I am happy to say, I hope never to leave again. My business affairs In South America have terminated far more successfully than I had expected, and if, on my return, I find my charming daughters and all my friends enjoying half as good health as lido, then shall I be happy Indeed. “*1 purpose leaving here on the 24th on the Habana, which aails for New Tork, and if everything goes welt will be with you on the 29th. Your loving father. HENRY FAIRFAX. , “ ‘P. B.—ln my wanderings In South America I came across a very fine—’ Here I stop reading. There Is » blotted word on the paper which I cannot make out Lillian, my sister, Is quieting d£wn somewhat, looks over my shoulder to assist in Bolving the knotty problem. “ ‘ —whom I call the Cherub, and as he Is a splendid specimen, I Intend bringing him with me. Send Jackson to the station late In the afternoon. a ‘FATHER.’ ” “Joy! joy!;* cries the Irrepressible Lillian, clapping her hands and hugging me. "After all these years he is coming home. Oh, how thankful I am!” Gently I disengaged my sister’s arms from around my neck and wipe away tears of Joy. “God has been Tery good to us,” I say. Impressively, "ever since mother died. Let us thank him for It." Taking the letter from my hand, Lillian essays to read the blotted word, finally uttering a little cry of vexation. “What can it be?” she says again and again, and her persistence causes me to look up. “Oh,” I say, carelessly, “probably some native of the jungle— -p. mulatto boy, perhaps; or maybe It’s a dog.” Silence again for a full minute. Then:

“Rose,” says Lillian, solemnly, weighing each word, “are you hlind? Do you not recall what a practical Joker father Is?” - I readily yielded this point. No jollier man ever lived than Henry Fairfax, is the comment of those who know him; and I haye had reason to remember many of his tricks. “It’s as plain as day. The Cherub, as father calls him. Is an ugly, mischievous, peace-destroying, tantilizing monkey.” says Lillian, dwelling on the syllables of the adjectives to give them proper weight, “and that blot o» the paper Is made purposely to set his ‘charming daughters’ to guessing. So there!” I sink back In my chair, perfectly aghast and unnerved. “What! a monkey in this house, known of all homes for its order and nicety; a monkey here to pull Rover’s tail and to frighten Aunt Chloe out of her wits; to tear the feathers out of the parrot’s tail and to kill my pet canaries, to say nothing of ruining —yes, mining— my roots and bulbs In the hothouse; a monkey In this house to—to—to ” My tongue fails me. The awful truth of my Bister’s words comes with crushing force. Long and earnestly we discuss the alarming situation, many are the suggestions offered and plans made for preventing the enemy’s entrance Into our sacred home. We finally evolved an elaborate plan to take the “horrid” cherub from father Immediately on his arrival and set him free.

It is the night before father’s ar rival ■and- all is in readiness for his coming. To bed and to sleep we finally go—Lilian to dream of the Incidents of the morrow and I to dream of him who la coming o’er the sea. my mind gradually wandering off to one who went down ,at sea some ten years ago, due primarily to my cruel and heartless refusal of his earnest suit for my hand. It Is along toward four o’clock of the next day when the crunching noise made by the feet of a heavy man Is heard approaching nearer and nearer.

The man stops at the steps of the veranda and stamps the snow from his feet, then walks hastily up. He crosses the veranda quickly, stops, stamps again, grasps the knocker and gives one loud blow. In a flash the door is thrown open and we fall — literally fall, for I fear we make a sad mess of it —upon the neck of a very much wrapped-up athletic gentleman, whose vice-like grip around our waists nearly takes the breath aWay. Then —but why tell it? 0 merciful heaven, the man is no more like my father than I to Hercules!

Before losing consciousness. I hear the voice of the stranger calling out to a figure coming up the steps: "Well, Fairfax, this'la a warm reception. and no mistake.” At dinner -1 am Introduced to a bronze-faced, bewhiskered gentleman of the name of Mr. Hubert Bancroft and the Joy caused by my father's return ' quickly drives away aU thoughts of the eventful afternoon. It is a happy party that gathers before the grate at night. Father’s thrilling stories of adventure, told In matchless style, and hls description of the peoples among whom ft was hls fortune to be thrown; his Irrepressible humor, shaded occasionally by

a bit of pathos, all contribute to make the evening one never to be forgotten. I have not had the opportunity of examining Mr. Bancroft’s face as well aa I would like; he is taciturn and sits In the shadow, and I am rather shy after my brilliant performance of the afternoon. , "Bancroft, my cherubic friend,” cries father, finishing the story of his success in the gold mines of Mexico and his ventures In the copper fields of Chill, “you conclude that story, my lad, and tell us all how It *as that we came together.” Thus appealed to, my father’s friend tells how he left the United States for a South American port as a sail-: or; how he suffered, being “green," on board the vessel; how at last, when nearing their destination, the port ot Africa, a fearful temblor, or earthquake, came, and* the vessel was wrecked, all on board perishing save three. * “The three —what became of them?” say I, leaning, forward, rather pleased with the narrator’s voice. ?Ot the three, one was left on a desert Isle, having become crazed after days and days on the sea In an open boat.” "How cruel In you! And did he die alone, forsaken by all who loved him, with no hand to help him, no one to hold his dying head?" say I, quickly, my breath coming in gasps. A great fear seises me, I know not why. • The gentleman hesitates and looks at father, who In turn looks sharply at him; then father suddenly bolts from his chair, aa Is his custom when excited over any matter, and strides the floor. “Of that man who was left on the barren island,” continues the narrat-

or, “nothing was ever heard, but the boat containing the two seamen was picked up by a coasting vessel and the poor fellows were landed at last at Valparaiso, Chili. Here one of them died, while the other, happening by the merest ehance to save the life of an American from assassins in the streets of Valparaiso—” “That’s modest, Hubert,” my father breaks In, speaking rapidly. “Let me finish It. You saved my life from as cowardly apd dastardly a set of blackguards as ever lived. I found out who and what you were, your condition In life, and so forth, and together we went up into the interior, struck a mine, and, thanks be to God, here we are —rich men, happy and strong, and with many years of life before us, let us hope.”

“Mr. Bancroft,” say I, nerving myself for a question, the answer to which I fear may kill me, “do you know the name of either of those men who died?” “For the life of me I can’t recall either name,'' He replies, after some reflection. At this reply father stops short in his nervous striding and, looking at tils friend, utters a low whistle —a most extraordinary performance, as it expressed wonder at such a statement. I grow sucpiclous. “And the name of him who was saved was ” “John Mortimer," is the thrilling response, uttered in a low voice. I gasp hysterically, totter to my feet, then fall in a heap. At this juncture a most unlookedfor incident occurs. Father, with a dart like lightning, springs at the man, snatches from bis face a false beard and from bis head a wig, and as Jackson and Aunt Chloe —the latter holding her skirts and taking most redicuioua steps—come to the scene In response to Lilian's cries of alarm, my reeling senses perceive the form of him who went to sea but who was not drowned. ”1 have come back for you, Rose, dear,” cries John Mortimer, holding me In his strong grasp. From your father’s Ups I heard of your repentant spirit, and at last you are mine, mine!"

‘Well done. John, my cherubic friend!** I hear the voice of father above the confusion. Then, grasping Lilian around the waist, he points to where we are. "Lilian, my dear,** he says, hls eyes twinkling, "Look at your future brother. Look at him. I say! It la said that your father can do some tall prevaricating, bat for pare, unadulterated lying, if oar son and brother here don’t excel the Baron Munchausen I’ll eat the whole book—and the Baron, too.” \ Setting up rival claims for fame and popular favor generally ends In inspiring criticism and disgust.

"I Have Come Back for You, Rose.”