Evening Star Newspaper, September 13, 1925, Page 90

THE SU HONEYMOON She Married a Man Whose Wealth She Thought Was Unlimited. HE villages and farms gilded with evening sun seemed in- credibly passive in contrast to the rush of the fast train weaving through them on its way to New York. In the little towna people were sitting down to Thelr suppers, and on the train an immaculate colored walter was go- ing through the Pullmans announc- ing that for the first time he called the passengers’ attention to the fact that dinner was served. In one of the little black-and-gray private compartments a girl regarded the waiter with interest as he re- peated his announcement at the open door. She walted a few minutes; then leaning forward she looked at herself in the mirror, and the mirror gave back a lovely oval face, which travel had not tired. It was an in- genue face with gray-blue eyes set rather far apart under narrow, faint- 1v curving eyebrows: and her halr, which curled irrepressibly, was drawn away from her forehead like a cur- tain on either side and held in a simple and old-fashioned knot at the back. The inspection was satisfac- tory, and with the swiftest of ges- tures to smooth her hair she spoke to the young man opposite her: “He's called dinner, dear.” “Already? It seems to me we've Just stopped eating.’ He came over to sit beside her. He was a very young man, still slouching a little in the effort to carry his height, with a kind, blunt ce, the sort of face which looks on foot ball games with scientific enthusiasm and vaudeville shows with relish. Tired, sweetheart?” he wondered. “T'm never tired,” said Cynthia. “I don't want to be tired. There's so much to see.” ‘I wish you could have seen the girl who passed just now. I'm sure she was a bride, too. Such clothes, Dick. The lovellest soft ilk, with a little swinging cape and he smartest hat and shoes. I think n the diner now. Let’s go right The dining car was already filling. “See, I was right to come in ear! hoasted Cynthia. “Look, there's that girl, Dick. Did_you ever see such clothes? And she's not so awfully pretty.” She picked up the menu with an air of great discrimination and look- | ed it over. “There’s not much,” she remarked, surveying the thirty or more dif- ferent kinds of foods listed. ‘“Noth- ing that looks good. I think we'd hetter order a couple of T-bone steaks from the grill.” ‘Won't one do for us both?" Oh, hardly, Dick—it looks &o serimping—and get some asparagus and some potatoes au gratin, and I think I'll have just lettuce with Thousand Island dressing—if it's any good—and after that—you like ice cream with crushed raspberries— let's have that, and some coffee.” Dick's eves had followed her in- structions on the menu, d they stopped at crucial points. “Melons. Casaba—$0.75 T-bone steaks— $2.50."° Not less than $10 for this meal! “That's a vou ordered, “Oh, let's Dick: T hate expensive dinner child.” talk about fine, my not et * prices, * ¥ x were served and Juxurio: and ly plunged a spoon s the narrow They ynthia , hung into hers. A man acro aisle was watching her with admira- | tion, and there was a little tighten- | ing of her whole body in response to it. She knew all about men now, having been married 10 days. Poor man—no wonder he looked at her. when he had to eat with that fa sluggish creature who was probably his wife. But what diamonds the woman had! “Look, Dick. chance, at that marvelous!” when you get woman's diamonds. she sug- answered Dick, not “I don’t really care for diamonds,” sald Cynthia “You ought to have very few Jewels—but those vou have should be distinctive, absolutely. Now, what I really want is a string of pearls— small but well matched. T thought when we got to New York we could: o “Oh, sweetheart, get that out of your head. I'm not in the pearl neck- lace class—though I wish I were. I'd like nothing better than to hang a string of pearls around that pretty little neck of yours.” They sat looking at each other over the ruined melons, and the young man's eyes had a kind of tremulous adoration in them. I'll get them for you, though, be- fore I'm through,” he added, as an afterthought. “Why?" she asked teasingly He leaned toward her. “Because I adore you." Cynthia smiled. She felt these days s if she were learning a new and fascinating game “Do vou think a woman inspires " asked Dick. “I think she gray crepe | a| i makes him what he is. I could con- | auer the world for you, darling. And that's what I am going to do.” The waiter slipped thick steaks in front of them. “Now. don’t you cried Cynthia softly. Dick grinned. “You bet I do,” he said. “You're a great little meal-orderer, Cynthia.” “[ want to be. I want to have what they call perfect little dinners —you know, just lots of silver and glass and lovely centerpieces of flowers and candles—" “Well, of course, we'll work up to But we'll begin simply.” ot too simply. Let's start right, and then we'll be sure to keep it up.” “Takes money, Cynthia.” “Get the money, stupid. Didn't you say you could conquer the world for me? Look at that funny little sta- tion? Why do you suppose we are stopping here?” “Some good reason. Look at the little restaurant, Cynthia. What does that make you think of?" Obviously it didn’t make Cynthia think of anything she wanted to re- member. She looked at her hands, but they, too, reminded her of a res. taurant, not so unlike the one out side the window, and of herself standing at the chairs of the cus- tomers, serving. “Don’t remind me, Dick. That was an awful experience. For a girl of any sensibility the thing was in- tolerable.” Dick didn’t mind thinking of Cynthia behind those tables, though, of course, he had been glad to get her out of it. That was where Cynthia had come |from, and some of their happiest and { feel hungry th determined to marry her, he had gone | back to Cosmopolis and had it out | with his family. It had been a row. but when they had seen how desper: ately m earnest he was his mother had given in. She had brought Cyn- there for two months before the mar- riage, shrouding Cynthia’s origin with skillful indefiniteness and building up a little acquaintanceship for Cynthia to start with after she was married. Cynthia had not been difficult. With the color of her environment, a familiar setting for her. Her past the stepmother past, the restaurant past, she had dropped into oblivion. It | she referred to it at all with Dick, it was as a dreadful experience which she had endured bravely. Dick was found it hard to undersiand why work- ing in a restaurant to support yourself | was something to be hidden. | One of his most delightful and ro- mantic memories was the magic of ‘dnmplnz into that little restaurant in | the raw mining town where he had | been working as mining engineer and | meeting Cynthla there, so lovely in her clean white apron. * %t HEY lingered over the raspberries and ice cream. The walter hov- ered above them indulgently. It was a good order. and he had served it well and he was beamingly expectant of reward. Other passengers watched the young couple also. It was a pretty scene, the young lovers lingering over one of those first delightfully shared | dinners, with Summer twilight silhou- etting them against the sliding land- isu\l)e. Back in their compartment, Dick made notes on the back of an en- velope. Ho was in the midat of calcu- |lations when Cynthia spoke again. Are we going to the Renown, ‘Cynthia, have those hotels cost? | “Your father doesn't care what we | spend. You could get all you wanted | from him.” Dick stiffened. “No, I couldn't, Cyn |thia. He's already given us fifteen | hundred for the trip and fiftcen hun- | dred for our furniture. 1 somehow think we were foolish to plan a trip to New York. It would have been bet- ter to go to Lake Requan, as mother suggested.” She closed the dressing bag and pick- ed up a magazine. After a few min- utes, in_her new manner, she rang {for the porter and told him he could | make up the berths. Dick was exiled |to the smoking car. He bent to kiss |her and then went out. She seemed a little disturbed. poor little girl, with her dream of the Renown. Why, she wouldn't be comfortable there! train steamed on and the night grew dark outside. Dick came back to his compartment with that sense of de- light and humility which still swept over him as he put his privileged hand on the door between him and his wife | “It's me, darling,” he told her, soft | The door opened. Dick saw her in | the faint light. Ste had turned off the central light. Tn her neglige she was a picture of innocent childishness. But as he put his arm around her and bent his warm cheek to hers she drew away a little and he felt the restraint of her mood. | “What's the matter?" { “Nothing,” she answered but_drearily “You don't seem like yourself “Don’t T? T've just been thinking." u any idea what sweetly A T most romantic interviews had been in | just such a place. Then, when he had | | thia to her own home and kept her | amazing swiftness she had taken on | until | Dick’s simple, well bred home seemed | used to that now, but just at first he | The | | |was new {to dress. “Of what sad thing?’ he teased her. “Marriage. It's so queer. I'm so helpless—any girl is.” She was lying in_her berth now, propped up by pillows, the discarded magazine be- side her and her head turned away. “Helpless?" “A man does what he pleases. A girl who's been married—" She let the sentence drop there. Dick, though he was possessed of only ordinary shrewdness, knew where the trouble had started. He knew that she was cold and denying, because she was not given the prom- ise of staying at the Renown. He stood rather tragically still in the middle of the compartment. Seven hundred dollars left for .more than two weeks. An expensive hotel would eat into that, but, worse, it would give Cynthia new ideas of expendi- ture. If he ran short of money he'd have to wire home for more. ~Well, he could do it, perhaps, and work extra hard when he got back to make it up. “Cynthia, darling——" “Yes, dear——"" “Do_you realize that we' New York in the morning?” “I know."” “Walt till you see it. itself! And the Palace. hotel.” “But we're not going_to it.” “Of course we are. Do vou think I'd take you anywhere else She turned her face toward him. “Do you think I'm-a dreadful ex- pense and responsibility?” “I think vou're the best investment a man ever made. You make ms teel,” declared Dick, kneeling beside | The station It's a great | the berth, “that I can do anything.”| “I can do very little for you,” she replied, “but you have me. All a girl has is hersel It sounded very generous and pa- | thetic. Dick bent his lips to her hand | almost reverently. | * %ok % : D' his bride New York. wrong. It was Cynthia who showed him a New York with which he had not hitherto been concerned. She dis- covered it immediately. With Cynthia standing beside him, Dick was not| shown to one of those cheaper rooms left to the mercy of college students | and quiet single gentlemen. He was conducted to a large and pleasant | place with huge and handsomely cur- | tained windows, two immaculate beds huge bureaus and chiffoniers, a very complete desk, several well uphol stered armchairs and a great many little shaded lights in every conceiva- ble place. i The first day for Cynthia was a| day of the beauty parlor. She want- | ed some information and got it, for | she went to a hairdresser whose name | she had seen in a very fashionable | magazine. She paid him $10 for a consultation, which ended in his tell- ing her not to have her hair cut, that she was a perfect type as she was. | The talk of types and personalities to Cynthia, as applied to herself. All her life she had known that she was pretty. Dozens of people had told her that, and dozens of littl® privileges had come her way because of it. Now, when Manton, the hairdresser, { passed his shrewd hand over her lit-| tle head, it turned completely. She was a type, a personality, and she | strutted down Fifth avenue and| through the lobby of her hotel imag- | ining that on her walk were com-| ments and praises and wonderments. It made her proud and coquettish | with Dick, but she had already learn- ed and saited away much movie phi-| losophy about how to make a man | “care. Where are we going tonight, Dick?" | It was their fifth night in New York. | “Let's go out and find some quiet | restaurant,” said Dick. I don't want ! Let’s explore. Put on a suit | and let's go out and hunt for a place | to eat.” i “But Dick, T wanted to wear my new | dress, the new red one.” “That one—" said Dick, non-com- mittally. They had had a little argu- | ment over the dress the day before, | and it had ended with Dick’s allowing | Cynthia to open an account in a Fifth | avenue shop so he might be saved | spending what ready money he had. | “Couldn’t you wear it some other time?” | “I could. But—TI'd sort of counted | on it- o ! “And you want to dine here?” | “Oh, yes, Dick—please.” “Very well,” said Dick, crossly. She hadn't told him about the cloak. The clerk had insisted that she must ' have a wrap for the red dress, that | every gown had its own wrap these | days. The wrap was white with goft | long ostrich plumage falling from its | hem, and as she looked at herself in | the mirror Cynthia was startled at her own loveliness. “Dick- | He turned. | “Is that the dress? You look mar- velous.” “Oh, that's a wrap.” She held it spread out. “Am .1 lovely?” | “You are. | “Then you'll forgive me for buying | i - CK had thought he would show | But he was | ) rather | the wrap. It wasn't so expensive, and | covered with ware that shone | silver and gave the full illusion. i i | | | | | | HE WATCHED THE GALLANT MR. HOLSTON WITH CYNTHIA. WHO WAS WEARING ANOTHER LOW AND UNEXPECTED DRES! | sider her home very seriously. | them through his wife as if she were AR, WASHINGTON, By Margaret the girl said I positively couldn’t wear the dress under any other wrap.” She was lovely, but somehow it seemed impossible for Dick to realize it. He stood staring at her, his eyes measuring. She wasn't the girl he had marrfed, but undoubtedly she was the woman who was married to him. So alluring—so beautiful—but he couldn't keep that up. B 'HE telephone rang, and Cynthia welcomed the diversion. She spoke rapidly, then putting the re- cetver down, came over to Dick. “It's that Mrs. Holston. I told you 1'd met them. From Chicago. She says her husband wants us to join them for dinner—I mean she and her husband do. There's economy, Dick. It won't cost us anything.” “I don't know them.” “They're nice, Dick. And they're staying right here. They live here while they're in New York.” An obsequious waiter showed the party of four to a very desirable table. Mrs. Holston was badly shaped, thin of face and large of bust, and no doubt 45 years old. She wore good clothes, which had obviously been worn before, and her face was lazy and shrewd. Mr. Holston had dieted better than his fe. He carried his thin frame with an imitation of youthful bearing, and had made an art of immaculate dress- ing. Dick found out that he had some- thing to do with shipping. He had little opportunity to find out more, for his wife was devoting herself to Mr. Holston. Mr. Holston suggested they let him telephone for his car and take them for a ride, coming back for the roof “Follies.” ' And so it was arranged. Cynthia’s eyes shone as she stepped into the big limousine at the hotel en- trance and they rolled away. * * * As they were going to bed that night Cynthia hesitated long before her mir- or. Dick, who would have preferred to spend his sacred weeks alone with Cynthia, felt vaguely anxious to be- stir himself to offer her soclety. He took her out to Pelham Manor, to the suburban home of a friend of his, who had married the daughter of a college president. The two young people were living in a small clapboard house, im- mensely proud of their furniture, which was all early American and per: sonally collected. But the high-backed maple fireside chairs and the hooked rugs did not impress Cynthia. More- over, the baby cried distressingly all hrough the simple dinner, and the maid who served it was awkward Cynthia seemed to steer away from Dick’s suggestions relative to “‘seeing people” after that. She had met a lady called Mrs. Warren, who had a most amazing shingle bob, and who was apparently rich and unattached. Her passion was furniture and mnot clothes, and she initiated Cynthia into the terms of a “perfect setting for each personality.” Cynthia began to con- “Wouldn't it be better to buy our furniture here, Dick? Some thin that are really unique and different she said that night. “Oh, I don't think so.” said Dick. “We'll stay at mother’s for a week or two, and then she can help you. If we are going to live in Cosmopolis we ought to buy our stuff there. Too much trade goes out of town as it is. Besides, we can do a lot better.” “I suppose,” said Cynthiia. “Aren't Mr. Holston’s rooms here wonderful? You know, he's had nearly all the ho tel furniture taken out and his own put in. What do you suppose it costs him to live the way they do?" “Too much,” said Dick. “Dick—you mustn't deas.” “But T haven't.” Dick let the ex- asperation creep to the surface. “But those rich people just aren't my kind I'm not in their ciass “But vou ought to have ambition enough to want to get there.” “You don’t understand, Cynthia. T don’t think they're better than I am. They are different. They're spenders —floaters. If they were real people, they wouldn't be living in a hotel They'd have a home. 1 don't like their standards at all.” “But they have everything. You| don’t understand, Dick. A girl just; gets—well, you get so tempted when | you see ugly women with things like | Mrs. Holston.” “I think she's by far the better of the two, if you ask me.” “Why, she isn't in his class. He's so much a gentleman. I don't think | she really came from much.” * % ¥ ¥ HERE was no doubt that the Hol- stons overshadowed the third week of Dick’s married life. They were al- ways glving invitations—at least Mr. | Holston was, though he sometimes put | have small | a telephone exchange. He enjoyed the youth and admiration of Cynthia, and in a slightly superior way tried to dazzle her. And Cynthia was daz- zled, to Dick's secret anger. He re- minded her of economy, and she, in submission to it, somehow showed that she thought less of him for being forced to remind her of it. There were other hours, other minutes—gay ittle breakfasts in bed with the ulilbkle e Dick in his bathrobe and Cynthia still in- dolent in bed, and both of them de- liciously content and dependent on each other's presence. There were wife to himself and lured her out for a walk, and she made amused and shrewd little observations on every- thing that they passed, as they hunted through side streets lined with queer shops and looked on the shining Hud- son from a bus top. Then would come the quick clutch of avarice, as on the night when they had been so radiant- 1y happy and were strolling back to their hotel, and Cynthia saw a girl in a golden cloak step under an awning from an automobile. *‘Look, Dick, the girl on the train— the one in gray. The same one.” “Is it “Where's she going? place?” “That's the Ritz.” When Cynthia took off her hat in their bedroom, she turned to Dick and said: “Don’t you think I'm better looking than that girl we saw—the one on the train?” “A thousand times,".answered Dick. It was the assurance that Cynthia sought. It became clear to Dick on the thir- teenth day_that they would have to go home. He could not stand the ex- pense of another week, and so he told Cynthia. She had begged him to stay. It was their wedding trip, she argued —and why not have a good time for once in their lives? As she said it she pouted. They were sitting in one of the long oushioned corners of the lobby, and to Dick’s horror they had a little scene. ‘When Cynthia left him, Dick looked at a palm for a long time. And he thought: “I'm not much good. I'll never be able to keep up the pace she wants. 1 just can't do it; that's all. T can’t make her happy, and I sa‘i1I'd make her happy. I'm cheating her— that's what I'm doing. But how was 1 to know what women want? It's natural enough—she's beautiful, and she sees these other dubs, with less looks than she has, with all the money in the world. Poor Cynthia! She just doesn’t see things straight. ‘Mrs. Holston, sitting half-hidden by What's that the palm and the pillar, and wearing | You then ordered me to take the piece been called by his friends, was 19 an unfamiliar-hat and veil, was not'and elevate it, and fire down the road when the war was declared, and left D. C, Culkin Banning noticed by Dick. But she saw him and she had seen Cynthia flounce away. * % Xk ¥ ‘HEY had dinner that night with the Holstons. As Cynthia re- marked, if they were really short of money, they might as well eat with people’ who enjoyed their company. While they were dressing, she had tried to be nice to Dick. He looked very miserable and stubborn, and_did not respond to her kindnes For, after all, he did not feel he could make any concession to it, and his impotence hurt. He watched the gallant Mr. Holston with Cynthia, who was wearing another new and unexpected dress. It was a dress that drooped a little away from her shoulders, and some- thing provocative in its idly caught folds interested Mr. Holston and in- furfated Dick. They were dining at Armand’s, which was another place Cynthia had wanted to see, having picked the name up somewhere. Afterward they danced, and the thin, elderly man held Cynthia tightly and danced perfectly and appeared to whisper to her while Dick sat with Mrs. Holston, who did not dance, and watched his wife miserably ~and angrily. Cynthia was glowing, for other men looked at her as she danced, and she felt desirable in her new way, and precious. It was to be a gay night, for Cynthia had hinted at their coming departure. That and an unusual number of cocktails had made Mr. Holston more than commonly spor tive—even amorous. He had an air of hovering over Cynthia, as if she belonged to him, or as if, thought Dick, he'd rented her. Dick wanted to get Cynthia_home, but he had had his | lesson and was afraid of a scene. It was only when they proposed another cabaret at 11 o'clock that he rebelled. “But Dick— warning glance, but he was obdurate. “We'll all go home,” agreed Mrs. Holston, usually so pliant. Now, however, she sounded decisive. When they had left the Holstons, he abruptly and Cynthia effusively, with a hint at a prospective meeting next day, Dick began to realize that he would have to pay for having his own way. Cynthia was making out her bill. He could tell it by the avert- ed face. * ok k% N hour later there was a knock at the door of the room which Mr. Richard Taylor rented so expensively for himself and his bride. Cynthia, who was still up, looked at her watch. It was soon for him to come back. Well, she would have to maintain her dignity. She was sorry for poor Dick, too. He was so white when he went out. Still— She unlocked the door and went back to her bureau as the handle moved; then as there came no greet. ing she turned. Mrs. Holston stood there. “How pretty you look in neglige. child!™" she said. “May I sit down “Do. Dick’s gone out for a few min- utes.” “I thought he would have gone by this time."” ou thought—why?" ‘I guessed what you ¥ould say to him and how long he could stand it,” answered Mrs. Holston calmly. “Really, Mrs. Holston, I don’t know what you mean.” “You don't know very much of any- thing, my child. You don't know what a fine young man you marrjed —or how you harass him. Why don't you try to appreciate him?" “I don't see what you mean. haven't any right—-" No., T suppose not. But I thought for once it was worth assuming. It seemed to me that you hadn't been quite spoiled yet. Of course, you haven't been exposed to the sun very long.” “If you You have anything to say to SEPTEMBER 1 Cynthia cast him a | 1925—PART THEY SAT LOOKING AT EACH OTHER DTN . . . AND THE YOUNG MAN LOUS ADORATION IN THEM. S EYES HAD A KIND OF TREMU- me——" But Cynthia didn’t know how to_finish, “I have. 1 want to ask you what you think a man like my husband has to offer a girl like you?" Cynthia flushed, but ~before she could answer, Mrs. Holston went on “My husband is & clever business man, but a person of little education and no breeding. I brought him most of his money, and he has taken good care of it. He is fond of me and respects my business judgment. Also he has the taste for a pretty face that attracts so many city men. He is shrewd in dealing with them. He buys them things now and then. I suppose he pays for their company adequately, but he gets value received. He gives away no fortunes to pretty girls, no_automobiles- “I'don’t care about your husband!” Cynthia savagely, know you don't. But you've been saturating yourself with the idea that such a man, and there are thousands like him, would do anything for the | privilege of looking at you. You've made your poor husband believe it. Why, you poor little country girl, do you know how plentiful and cheap beauty is in New York? Dressed in fine clothes, you look very well. But your husband pays for them. You have been thinking he doesn't buy you enough, that he doesn't give vou enough, that he is unkind not to keep you here in this expensive place when | vou should be sitting by a lake letting him make love to you as a bridegroom should. Well, let me tell you, he gives you more than most men would. Do | you want to be on the street? Do you | know that the prices of the street are | low, and that you have no tale; | beauty to give vou great value |and give Cnythia moistened her lips. Her eyes looked large and frightened.| Mrs. Holston's cutting voice changed and became gentle. ‘Listen, child—I didn’t intrude here to be impudent or cruel. I came | against my will, conquering my own | I inertia, which urged me to let it go, to mind my own business. And then I couldn't. Because I was sorry for | you—two children on a honeymoon! | Tell me, my dear, don’t you love your | husband?" “Of course I love him, re- | plied. “Do vou think I need you to tell me 80?"" Something in Cynthia's mind leaped back to the memory of Dick standing there in the restaurant gallantly, humbly asking her, and how she had fel Well, then, what have y him? Do you bring him wealth or pos tion?" “T gave him myself thia, and the re; often brought Dick sounded flat. “Were you so v: * answered Cyn k which had so to his knees luable?” asked Mrs Holston. *Or w that his love set | a value on you? Hadn't other men passed you by or offered to vou | vyou less of love or trips to New York? Wasr best you could get?” “T don’t know about that revived a little “Oh, a girl usually tak bargain she can make. she takes less money and more love, or more money and less love, and sometimes a_ good bargain is a bad one; but each girl does the best she | can “I've found,” she went men aren't too genero There is a notion that Ie on, “that with women they spend money wildly on them. Well, the ones who get a lot of money spent on them have great beauty or talent, and in addition the ave usually more than one man who spends it. That . as one sees in New Yor ymen are like you—who have ke continuous care of who won't get tired e first wrinkle or gray 3 sband is a well bred gent I've seen. them before He is fz bred than you—-' The door handle turned, and Dick entered. He looked at his wife, and then with surprise and hostili Mrs. Holston. Those people agair when he’d come back to make it up with Cyntt nthia some vou—inde of you w hi ¥ arms “she’s been say Mrs. Holston right to come up my wife.” Dick's as he tried > what this corrupt old city it have been saying. Hols at the door she said have any disturb rded the door blackly as What did s! say, dar > Poor dear Cynthia Cynthia sobbed on, gently, ingly. “Dick,” she wailed, “let'’s go home tomorrow. 1 hate this rotten city, full of pretending people and bluff. I 'sup pose that woman told the truth, but she said the most awful things. “She did not tell the truth,” said comfortably. “Don’'t you be word she said! (Copsright. 1925.) charm Soldier Who Fired the Last Shot ettysburg Tells His Story At N a quaint little town of Virginia, where memories ahd _traditions lend an atmosphere of romance which clings to the place as the green tendrils of ivy and ancient moss cling to the walis of its pic- turesque homes, an old Confederate soldier recently celebrated his eighty- fourth birthday, unconscious of the fact that he is a figure of historic in- terest. Edward Samuel Duffey, who fired the last shot at Gettysburg, smiled modestly when asked to tell the story of his uniue experience, but his eyes kindled and an expression of adora- tion crossed his face as he said simply: “I remember it as though it were yesterday, because my general was there.” And he instinctively drew his frail body erect and lifted his fine gray head, as though Robert E. Lee him- self were standing before him. “How well 1 remember him,” con- tinued the old veteran. ‘“The hand- somest figure of a man and the finest soldier T have ever seen. Why, suh, when Robert E. Lee rode a horse he seemed to be a part of him!, And what a general he was! He took all the blame for mistakes that were made, and even in his bitterest mo- { occasional events when Dick had his | mat® 06 S3€ o 0 e his men “Yes, suh.,” he proceeded, “it was after Pickett's charge. Gen. Lee and Gen. Longstreet were standing to- gether under a tree in the old peach orchard at Gettysburg, when I came out with my gun and seven rhen. (I was an _Artillery sergeant with Parker's battery) It was about 7 o'clock on the evening of July 3, 1863. “Gen. Lee sald something to Long- street, and the latter came up to me and said, ‘Sergeant, have you any am- munition left?’ “I replied that I had a little canis- ter. ‘Very well’ said Longstreet, ‘elevate your gun and give it to those Yanks coming up the road.’ “We followed his order and the ad- vancing infantrymen, thinking there was an entire ambush in the orchard, checked _their march. Had known that the head of the Southern forces was at the end of that road, guarded only by seven men and one cannon, their decision might have un- dergone a swift change.” The veter- an chuckled at the little joke on the Yankees. “And that shot of mine was the last one fired at Gettysburg,” he con- cluded, still chuckling. * ok ok ok MR. DUFFEY has in his posses- sion a letter indorsed by James Longstreet, which states that the inci- dent happened as it is related here, and that his was indeed the last gun fired on the famous battlefield. The letter written to Longstreet by Samuel Duffey read as follows: “Gen. James Longstreet: “Dear Sir—I write to ask if you re- member ordering a sergeant of artil- lery to go and fire down the road to the right of peach orchard at Gettys- burg July 3, 18637 “You and Gen. Robert E. Lee met the gun that I was sergeant of as we came from the peach orchard, after the charge of Gen. Pickett. You ask- ed me if I had any ammunition. I stated that I had a little canister. they | o SERGT. EDWARD SAMUEL DUFFEY OF MIDDLEBURG, V. FIRED THE LAST SHOT IN THE BATTLE OF GETTYSBURG, JULY 3, 1863. HE RECENTLY CELEBRATED HIS 84TH BIRTH- DAY ANNIVERSARY. to the right of the orchard, when lhe! Yanks were advancing. “I did as ordered, and this gun of Parker’s Battery, Huer’s Battalion, fired the last shot at Gettysburg. “Please indorse the inclosed if they are remembered by you, as I have been looking over my pocket dlary, kept during the war, and desire to see if what I have written is correct. “Very respectfully, (Signed) “E. S. DUFFEY. (Indorsement) “Washington, D. C., July 27, 1900. *“I remember the incident referred to in this paper. (Signed) “JAMES LONGSTREET."” “S8am” Duffey, as he has always A., WHO National Photo. his watchmaking trade to join Lee's army. He enlisted April 15, 1861, in Kemper's Battery, Fleld Artillery, at Alexandria, Va., and saw service in many of the major engagements dur- ing the four long years of bloodshed that drained the South of her youth and her resources. At the first battle of Bull Run Sergt. Duffey was the hero of another dra- matfc incident—although he claims that it was purely an accident on his part. It seems that his battery went into the line to aid the Confederates, who ‘were driving the Yanks from the field. As the retreating Northerners | bu wagon and wrecking the vehicle fallen horse and wagon blocked mp the ford and off the retreat. The Confederates rushed in and captured the entire Yankee detackment thus trapped The captain afterward cited Duffey for his action, which may have been purely providentizl, as he modest]y asserts, but w« had all the ear marks of a | ul firing on somebody's | Th *x %% ERGT. DUF ¢ ments includes an early skirmish 1t Vienna, the battle of Manassas Buil Run), seven days around Rick mond, second battle of Manassas Antietam, Fredericksburg, Gett: the Tennessee campaign and Richmond again in '64 and 6. He was captured once, and later traded back for a “Yankee. e was wounded at Antietam on September 17, 1862. Not having any modern Red Cross equipment at hand, wound. ed soldiers in the 60s had to shift pretty much for themselves. Serxt Duffey, with the aid of a comrade. limped from the battlefield after being shot through one leg, and dragged himself to the nearest town, where he lay for many months in a hos- pital. After his Army had heen forced to admit defeat in that dark hour art Appomattox Samuel Duffey went R of engage { home to face the heartbreaking task { of assisting his peopla in bringing order out of the chaos’that had once | been a glorious Southland. He took up his work where he had left off four years before—-years which held poignant memories that were to remain with him vividly for more than half a century. He es tablished his little jewelry shop in Middleburg, Va., and there he has worked at watchmaking for the past 55 years. In his picturesque little shop he dreams his dreams of that heroic general who stands out in his loyal mind as the eatest 1nan the South has yet produced. A New Weed Iziiler. THOSE who dislike having garden paths dvergrown with unsightly weeds will welcome details of a recent German patent. Certain benzine de- rivatives known as the sulphonamides are either powdered on to the weeds or else dissolved in water and sprayed on them. The most potent of thess compounds recommended by the pat- ent are the sodium and calclum para- toluene sulphonamides. By the sound of it it should kill any weed. The compounds, it is said, may be added to the gravel before laying the paths in order to prevent any weeds from growing. it e SR A i Cast Iron and Steel. know the proper definition of everyday substances is sometimes very useful in argument. The latest for steel and cast iron are given us by a Japanese chemist in the Imperial University of Tohoku. Steel he defines as “an fron-carbon alloy with a con tent of carbon lying between 0.035 and ‘were about to cross the ford at what is known as Cub Run (just below Bull Run), Duffey fired on them, killing the horse attached to the first 1.7 per cent.” Cast iron is similarly “‘an fron-carbon alloy,” but with a car hon content of “between 1.7 and 6.7 per cent.” o