Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, October 29, 1898, Page 2

> of a Day. Chapter I. “And I am sure, ladies and gentle- men, you will forgive the shortcomings of my speech, and join with me in wishing all health, happiness and prosperity to the bride and _ bride- groom!” Uncle John sat down amid great ap- plause, and, wiping his broad red face, smiled genially round, as one con- scious of deserving well of the assem- bled company. Then he leaned across the table, and added, in 2 confidential Wiisper to the bride— “lL hope you are satisfied, Mrs. Sant- rewly-acquired name, blushed a little, and looked shyly at her husband. But he either had not heard the speech or would not condescend to notice it; he v drinking champagne thirstily, and ing less than the usual amount of attention to his bride. Uncle John Cochrane felt snubbed, and the feeling was anything but agreeable to the rich city man, who had provided a costly trousseau for his penniless niece, and was the real giver of the feast. Mr. Cochrane was liberal enough in his way, -but then he liked his generosity to be recognized and appreciated by those on whom he be- stowed it. He listened with ill-concealed impa- tience to the coldly-correct periods in Mr. Santley acknowledged the compliment paid to himself and his bride; and. when the speech was over, Uncle John turned to his stout companion and smiling companion and said, with rough sincerity— L detest that fellow—he is about I would chosen the last man have for Grace!” Mrs. Mackenzie opened her mild blue eyes in amazement. “My dear Mr. Cochrane, you sur- prise me! I thought you were all de- lighted with the marriage!” “Rhoda may be—I am not!’ was the gruff answer; and the speaker hardly troubled himself to lower the tone of his not particularly gentle voice. “But Mr. Santley is such an excellent match! Dear Mrs. Leger was telling me that bh West Indian property is enormous; and he is a handsome dis- tinguished-looking man; they are quite an ideal pair!” concluded the lady, ar- ranging her gold-rimmed glasses the better to regard the objects of her praise. “So you may think, ma’am—I do not agree with you, that is all!” said Unele John, peeling a peach with much deliberation. “I think they are about as_ ill-matched as man and woman well can be, and, unless I mis- take greatly, Grace is much of my opinion.” Mr. Cochrane spoke so decidedly that Mrs. Mackenzie felt it w i i to come round to his op Santley—nee Leger—was a for whom she had a lik all she knew little of he: s certainly would not offend this com- fortable, well-to-do bachelor for ler sake. Your great generosity deceived me,” she replied, with an appealing look znd a pretty affected laugh. “I know all that you have done for dear Grace ly, when I thought that you approved of the match, I took it for ganted that it was in evey way able.” John Co s heavy face bright- ened a little, and his shaggy brows relaxed; the flattery was rather pro- nounced, but it did not seem so te him. The recognition of his liberality soothed and pleased him, although the speaker, despite her strenuous efforts to pose ably in his eyes, was no t favorite of his. No doubt, ma’am—no doubt,” he said complacently—“Champagne James for Mrs. Mackenzie!’—“bnt you bave been rather misled in this matter. I consider I owe a ‘duty to my sister’s children!” “And nobly you fulfil it,” murmured the lady, in a tone of conviction. “You are very kind to say so, ma’am. I might do more, no doubt, but a man like me has many claims upon him of which people know nothing; however, that is neither here nor there.” “He does not care to confess his own good deeds,’ whispered the widow to her peach, at which Uncle John smiled. “IT want to explain to a lady of your discernment how it is that I seem to countenance a thing of which I dis- approve—no, there is no need for apol- ogy: you are only too kind. The fact is, Rhoda was set on getting a hus- band for Grace before Ruth--who is a much more brilliant and dashing irl than her sister—could come out Into society.” “But they are both very young still.” “Ruth is only eighteen, but Grace is two and twerty—quite old enough for a girl without a fortune to be settled down. Rhoda thought this so decided- ly that. when Santley met them in the Engadine, and proposed almost off- hand to Grace, my sister came home in a very rapture of delight, and my inquiries as to his position hardly served to cool her enthusiasm. “‘He may be a twopenny-halfpenny edventurer, for all you know!’ I said bluntly; and then I must admit she showed a touch of the shrewdness that undelies ber fine-lady air. ‘You are very cruel, John. to talk of dear Herbert in that fashion!’ she replied, in an injured tone; then her eyes peeped ont very sharp and bright from behind thehandkerchief that had hidden them a moment before, and she ae@ied softly, ‘Of course I made all due inquiries about his tncome—his real position. I mean—before I per- mitted him eevn to speak to the dear \girl, and everything seemed most ‘gatisfactory; but, my dear generous brother, I shall, of course, refer him to you, and, if you are not satisfied—well, you know what to do.’ “‘and Grace’s affections? I asked sarcastically. ‘If I send her lover adrift, what will she say? “My sister shrugged her shoulders— ! coils about her small graceful head; she is a fine woman, is she not, Mrs. Mackenzie? and has captivating ways with her still—and answered, with a confident smile— “‘Grace is a good child, and has never yet disobeyed me—I do not think she will begin now.’ “I, too, thought it improbable, re- membering how, three years hack, the child bad been head over ears in love with Vincent Erle, and how meckly and tearfully she had suffered her lover to be sent from her. She was a irl to be easily managed, and I felt Sretty sure that Rhoda was pesuading her in this case—but that I could hear from her own lips later. The — first thing was to find out all about her lover.” “And the result of your inquirjes was. of course, satisfactory?” “Decidedly; Herbert Sanuey is a very wealthy man, of excellent fam- ily; and, though from the first I never liked bim, I was compelled to admit that his manners were good, while in the matter of settlements he was lib- erality itself. I told him at the first set-off that I could give my niece no fortune, and he dismissed the sub- ject with an indifference that was all but insulting.” “‘T love Miss Leger, he told me, and I ean afford to ask for nothing but her- self.” “It was very magnanimous, no doubt, but I am hanged if I liked him any the better fo his fine airs! I, too, could afford to be generous, if I chose; but I was not going to force a fortune on any one. “However, we ended the interview with mary smirks and smiles and pre- tenses of mutual satisfaction. But H went straight to Gracie, and put the matter fair and square to her. “ ‘Now, Gracie, I have come to have a talk about this lover of yours! Would it break your heart to give him up? I said. “She sprang up from her seat in the chimney corner, and let her embroid- ery, with all its needles and silks, fall in confusion to the ground; her eolor came and went, and I will swear that it was the light of hope that caused her blue eyes to shine so. “What do you mean, Uncle John? she asked. ‘Is Mr. Santley poorer than mother thinks, or—not what he represents himself to be? ~“‘No, no—nothing of that sort, child. He is a most eligible parti; but what I want to know is—do you care to| marry him “Gracie gave me a curious look, then resumed her work, nd answered quietly— “‘Of course I shall marry him, Un- | cle John!’ ‘After that there was nothing to be said, for, if there had appeared any- thing of the martyr in her words or manner, I would have interfered to protect her; but. as it was, I could osen my purse strings and make st of the matter.” re the best of uncles and | Mrs. Mackenzie said, with ; but she eyed her stout pompous neighbor a little curiously all | the same, for she had not thought | there was such sympathy with senti- ment to be found in the stock broker } nature. Then she glanced across at the bride | and bridegroom, only wondering wheth- er the former would have thanked her uncle for separating her from the dark handsome man by her side. “In joining contrasts lie love’s de- lights,”’ the lady quoted, with a smile. The quotation was apropos enough, though rather wasted on Uncle John, who received and acknowledged it by a broad stare. A more strongly-contrasted pair than Herbert Santley and his wife never knelt together on the steps of an altar. Gracie was a small pale girl, seeming younger than her two-and-twenty years by reascn of her extreme fair- ness and a certain look of fragility; her yellow hair was wound in heavy her eyes, of a clear, not very dark blue, were large and innocent and trusting in expression, but not spe- cially bright; while, in the opinion of those who did not know her intimately Grace Santley’s face was relieved from absolute insipidity only by the dark brows and. lashes, which gave a piquant touch of character to her countenance. Mr. Santley was a tall, stern-looking man, nearer forty than thirty, with boldly modeled features, crisp curly black hair, a heavy black moustache, and somber-looking eyes. He was not looking his best to-day— no man perhaps ever does upon his wedding moming. But it was appar- ently neither a foolish happiness nor a bashful terror that oppressed him, as he sat moodily gnawing his mous- tache, barely answering any questions addressed to him, and not seeming | couscious of the fact when his bride’ ‘rose to prepare for their departure. “Did you ever see such a bridegroom, mother?” Ruth Leger paused to whis- per in her mother’s ear, as she passed her at the foot of the stairs. Mrs. Leger answered only with a quick frown and a warning glance in the direction of the bride. “What do you know of bridegrooms, | child? Don’t chatter in that silly fash- ion, and make your sister unhappy!” Ruth’s bight hazel eyes flashed, and she tossed the glossy brown curls— on which a velvet jockey cap was jauntily set—a little indignantly. “J shall not make her unhappy,” she declared pertly. “Poor dear Grace, I am too sorry for her! I wish she had married Vincent Erle.” “Ruth!” A look terrible in its reprobation finished the sentence, and silenced even saucy Ruth. The girl laughed and ran up the stairs after her sister; and for the next half hour toilette duties occupied bride and bridesmaid alike. More than once Ruth Leger paused im her occupation to take a sharp searching glance at her sister’s quiet el lalmost roughly away; and, with the | mind. | brought the blood to the girl's jand | mercy!” face, but each time she withdrew her eyes with a feeling that there was something in its pale seren- | ity. A bride look happy beyond reason or miserable beyond words, thought impetuous Ruth. Certainly Grace had always been quiet, but, even for her, placidity was unnatural and absurd. “Are—are you happy, Grace?” Ruth asked a little wistfully, surveying the bride’s slender figure, in the pretty traveling dress of dove colored satin and ostrich feather trimming, with an odd uncomfortable moisture in her her eyes. Grace turned to kiss the velvety flushed cheek of her young sister, and answered, with a quiet smile— “Give me a definition of happiness first, Ruth! I am glad to have pleased my mother, after—after all, but very sorry to lose you!” “Oh—me!” Ruth echoed the words with a certain impatient intolerance; the girls were honstly fond of each other, but in temperament they were absolutely unlike. “I dare say you are fond of me, Gracie; but a girl has no business even to think of her sister on her wedding day.” “Then I am a very bad bride, I fear, fer I think a good deal of you, Ruth; you look so preity in that quaint little dress, which does great credit to your taste, my dear.” But Ruth received the double com- pliment with scornful silence, aud con- tinued eagerly— “Well, if I were Mr. Santley I sbould resent such conduct!” “Mr. Santley is not quite so unrea- sonable,” Grace said composedly. Irritated beyond all bearing by the placidity she could not ruffle. Ruth made a last: audacious effort, and re- marked, with her pretty head held coasideringly on one side— “Well, over excitability will never give you hart disease! Now, I wonder if you would have been equally indif- ferent and unemotional had you mar- ried Vincent Erle?” That arrow went home; the bride echoed the last two words with a sharp broken cry. She involuntarily covered her face with both shaking hands, but not before Ruth had seen that it had blanched to a pitiful pallor, and that the clear straightforward glance of the calm eyes had changed to a look of frightened pain. A second afterwards impetuous Ruth had flung her arms about her sister's neck, and was sobbing out entreaties for forgiveness in a very passion of terror and remorse. “Oh, Grace dear, I did not know—I eas not guess! Poor Grace, how terri- le!” But the elder girl pushed her sister cae word “Cruel!” coming from her white lips, she walked rapidly down the stairs. Nor did Ruth, despite her strenuous efforts, find an opportunity to plead for pardon before the carriage whirled the bride and_ bridegroom y on the first stage of their honey- moon journey. “‘*And they were married, and lived happily ever after,’” Mr. Santley quoted, with a curious little laugh. “Will they say that some day of you and me, Grace?” “Did they ever say it truthfully of any married couple?” the girl an- swered, in her sweet, listless voice; her eyes, with a pathetic pleading in their soft depths, rested, not on her husband, but on the glassy smooth water through which the vessel was ploughing its way swiftly under the' bright light of the harvet moon. They were on the deck of a Calais- bound steamer, its sole occupants at present; but thi re not availing themselves of their pleasant isolation to draw more closely together. Grace, warmly wrap in her silk | cloak, sat with hands clasped upon | the steamer’s rail and face turned | towards the sea; while Mr. Santi paced backwards and forwards. with rapid irregular tread, as though de- bating some weighty matter in his But at her last words he paused, and, bending over her, held the girl’s pale grave face in his hands and eyed it keenly. “Grace, ar you cynical?’ he asked, in an abrupt accusing fashion that ‘ace, ve her sensitive conscience a remorseful twinge. “Was not your doubt as cynical as mine?” she queried, with a forced smile. “I harly think we have the right to reproach each other.” But her light jesting words seemed only to deepen the shadow in_ the man’s somber eyes, for he raised his hand impatintly. “For heaven’s sake, make no com- parison between us!” he cried. “Your simple innocent life must have taught you not to doubt heaven’s justice and He paused, and drew a long breath. His newly-made wife saw a strang flash in his dark eyes, and noticed that his underlip was fiercely bitten. But, whatever the spirit that moved him, it was quickly quelled, for he touched her shoulder gently, and continued, with a reassuring smile— “Did I frighten you, dear? IT am a little more than punished when you shrink from me like that. Grace. I love you so well that I would die rath- er than harm you, even through that love!” Her husband spoke with such mis- placed vyehemence and passion that a vague chilling doub of his perfect san- ity titted through Grace Santley’s mind. The thought was alarming and unpleasant enough; but it did good in one way, as it served to rouse her from the dull and selfish apathy that had ben creeping over her of late. She placed her slender ungloved hand, upon which the golden ring glit- tered with significant newness, gently on his arm, and, raising her honest eyes to his, said, with earnest frank- ness— “Do you think I do not know that? Can you imagine that I forget how good you have always been to me?” “And how I love you!” he broke in, with jealous impetuosity. Grace’s face, pale before in the moonlight, gre wa shade paler now; but, if she hesitated, it was but for a second. “And how you love me,” she added softly. “But that rather lessens your merit, for it is so easy to be good to those you love.” “And so easy to be cruel,” he re- marked. “Was I not cruel, Grace, to make you mine when—I knew that you did net love me?” The girl winced and drew back quickly. She looked helplessly round as if to seek for words to answer him. “Tt is not accusation, child; you never made any pretense of love. You proved an obedient daughter, and I felt sure in my heart that you would be a good and faithful wifc.” “As I will be!” she exclaimed hur- riedly. and with what for her was ab- solute agitation. “That, at least, I can promise. 1 prayed in churcs to- day, dear, that you might always find me all that a wife should be.” Herbert Santley looked long, and, as it seemed to Grace's excited fancy, almost pityingly at the earnest face. Then he quietly took his place beside her, and held one little band within his own. As the mcon shown down upon them there they looked more like wedded lovers than they hail done previously; and Grace felt, with a little quickening of her pulses, that she was drawing nearer to something like understand- ing and sympathy with the man to whose life she had linked her own. After all, she might find something be- yond hard and barren duty in the new existence that opened out before her; she might be almost happy when— when that old haunting memory, which now would be a sin, should be lived down. Something of this faint new-born hope shone in the limpid eyes; but her husband evidently read the expres- sion, and his dark face turned livid. The girl saw the change, and asked, with a thrill of sympathy in her soft shy voice— “Are you angry, Herbert?” “Angry? No!” he replid vehemently; and the elasp in which he held her land became a convulsive pressure. “I—I was thinking of your future, Grace?” “Of our future, you mean,” she cor- rected, with a faint smile; but he did ne appear to hear her, and contin- ued— “T wonder if any bride ever knew so little of her bridegroom as you know of me? Are you not curious as to my past life, Grace?” “No—for no doubt you will tell me all that is good for me to know.” He smiled. but the exprssion was tingd with bitterness. He knew, or thought he knew, that no loving wo- man would have given such an answer, and he tried to feel thankful that she did not love him. “Fut T conld have taught her. She is a child—a grateful and affectionate one—in whose sweet nature gratitude would scop have turned to love,” he thought almost fiercely; but aloud he said, “Gool little wife! You would haye baffled Blue Beard himself! But I am more inquisitive—tell m some- thing about yourself. “About myself?” Grace echoed un- steadily. “What is there for me to tell?” “A school girl’s stery—an innocent idyll of home affections and school friendships—is that the summary, Grace?” She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, hating herself for the tacit equivocation, and yet knowing that it was impossible for her to volunteer the absolute truth. “A placid simple existence, broken only by the great vent of to-day,” he proceeded dreamily. “But suppose I died now. Grace—don’t look so scared, dear—men do die suddenly at times, you know—could you ever go back to your old life, and find it quite what it was before? Would you not always hate me for thrusting a dark and ugly memory upo nyeu?” | + Mr. Santley’s eyes never wandered from his bride; they shone with such a curious wild brightness that once ain Grace doubted his perfect san- “You will not die yet,” she answered lightly, though her heart fluttered un- easily. “I don’t care to entertain such uncomfortable ideas. We are to live happily ever after, you know!” “No doubt,” he veplied carleessly. “Tt was an absurd remark; but Tam troubled with curious fancies to-night —perhaps because the moon is at the full. How beautiful the moonlight looks upon the water, Grace! A man might walk from time into eternity along that shining track!” His wife looked at the lovely line of silvery light on the dark water, but she was hardly conscious of its beauty. A chill premonition of evil was upon her, and she trembled in her wrappings, thovgh the night was warm. The boat was nearing Calais now, and already the harbor lights gleamed through the misty moonlight. Already the bustle of arrival made itself felt within the vessel; passengers, Iaden with wraps and parcels, came strug- gling up the cabin stairs; the sailors were busy, and Grace Santley knew, with a vague feeling of relief, that her strange journey was nearly over. “We are almost in!” she exclaimed, smiling up at the passionate, dark face so close to hers: and her husband an- swered, hurriedly: “Almost home!” hen, drawing her closely to him, he continued, in a fierce. rapid whisper: “You think me mad, Grace; but you are wrong. A bride- gromm may be mad with joy, you know; and. that is my only mania. Forget all the folly I have talked of to- night, and promise that, with or with- out me, you will try to be happy!” “I will try,” she answered, firmly eonscious only of the supreme necessi- ty of calming him. “That, let what will happen, you will neither hate me nor my memory?” “Neither you nor your memory,” Grace repeated; but you must not ask me that question again, Herbert, until we have been Darby and Joan for at least twenty years. Will you promise me?” “I promise never to ask it again,” he said, gently; and then the young cou- ple sat together in perfect silence for a while. They were almost in harbor when a lad—a bright-looking little fellow, who, with his father, stood at a little dis- tance from them on the deck—ex- claimed at the beauty of the phosphor- escent water at the pier head. “It is a sea of gold and silver! Oh. father, look!” he cried, delightedly, and pressed eagerly to the steamer’s side, the better to examine the curious phe nomenon. His example was quickly followed, for there was something catching in che boy’s enthusiasm. Somebody sug- gested the tossing of pennies in to make the water leap; and a shower of bronze coin was followed by a gleam- ing iridescent spray that made the ea- ger lookers-on jump back and the lad laugh out in wild delight. (Te Be Continued) THE PARTY IS RIGHT. THROUGH DEMOCRACY PLU- TOCRACY MUST FALL, ! i The Republican Imperialistic Plan of Suppressing the Right of People to Vote—Plan to Govern by Military Force —Hannaism Growing Wilder. It is reported that government ar- chitects in making plans for a pro- posed public building in Chicago have laid out the lower story on the lines of a fortification. Their objects for this defensive plan is not to provide against foreign aggression, but to re- sist domestic riot. For some time an influential body of our citizens, with the same danger in view, has advocat- ed an increase in the army and its concentration in the centers of popu- lation. The remedy thus proposed to meet a recurring and increasing crisis is not the removal of the causes, but only the suppression of a manifesta- tion of discontent. Those adyocating military concentration at centers of population are placed on one or other horn of a dilemma. Either our po- litical economy and method of govern- ment is so partial and discriminating as to justly discontent to the point of violence and insurrection in the body or the workers of our free institu- tions and popular government have produced a lawless and dangerous class so large as to defy peace officers and to require military control. Hither of these views is a deadly arraignment of the American republic. Those who advocate permanent military establish- ments at large centers of population assume by logical implication, first, that existing sources of discontent will grow to need military force for the control of the discontented; second, that a large army is required for do- mestic rather than foreign foes, and, third, that American free institutions and popular control of government are insufficient to preserve order, protect property, or even to secure the life of the citizen from violence. In other words, the American republic is a failure; the powers of government can no longer be derived from the con- sent of the governed, but must hence- forth grow out of a certain class of the people and be supported by an efficient open to them. They must search out the abuses and injustice that breed dis- content and remove them. The issue is a status quo of cur political econo- my and methods of government, with an army establishment to suppress the insurrections which their unreformed continuance will bring on, upon the one hand, or, on the other, tireless and earnest work to remove the abuses and injustice and thus remove the discon- tent and avoid domestic insurrection Afraid of It. Indianapolis Sentinel—It will be ob- served that none of the Republican pa- pers is saying anything about the “en- lightened currency legislation,” which the grand old party has pronounced fore Why don’t they print the bill reported by the house committee on banking and currency, to which the Republican party stands committed, and explain and defend its provisions. This bill, which is substantially the measure prepared by Mr. Hugh Hann’s monetary reform commission, and introduced in the house by Jesse Over- street, provided for the destruction of the greenbacks, for the total abandon- ment of silver as standard money, for the irrevocable establishment of the single gold standard, for the granting of a monopoly of the issue of papel’ currency to the national banks and the most vicious and dangerous ex- pedient of reckless and dishonest finance, known as banking on assets. The issue presented by this measure is the most important before the country, save the question of humanity and justice raised by the war department scandals. Why don’t the Republican press discuss this issue? Wool Tariff a Failure. The New York wool exchange has quit business. President Allen Mc- Naughton, in explanation, says: “Owing to the depressed conditions of the wool market, and it appearing that improvement in that direction ig not likely to occur for some time, it has been deemed for the best interests of the corporation and its stockholders to discontinue all further operations in wool until a better outlook presents itself.”. Wool growers ought to learn by this time what little use a tariff is to give them good prices for wool. They ought to learn that promises held out to them by the Republican ©, what is the cry that is rending the sky, All over the South and the West? From far and from near the same slo- gan we hear, ‘With never a pause or a rest. Though faint in the East, it is ever in- creased, As you follow the course of the sun, Till the Rockies are passed, with a wild trumpet blast, For silver at sixteen to one. It sounds to the tramp of the far min- ing camp, | Then comes over plain; ‘Till caught in the mouth of the planter down South, While the farmer takes up the re- frain. Wherever ’tis found ’tis a magical sound, ik And a wonderful work it has done. Here, there, everywhere, it is filling the air, Free silver at sixteen to one. From the far Golden Gate to Wash- ington State, Thence east to Superior’s beach Take your course, and then ship down the broad Mississip, Till the shores of Kentucky you reach; mountain and SIXTEEN TO ONE. Up the fair Ohio, past Virginia go, Thence eastward the boundary rur; You will thus understand that three- fourths of the land Is howling for sixteen to one, ‘ Though gold-bugs berate, and their partisans prate, And their newspapers fill up their space; They tremble in fear when that slogan they hear, And find it growing apace. Though they fume and they sweat, we will wallop them yet, And won’t we have oceans of fun, As we bury them deep in their ulti- mate sleep, *Neath ballots for sixteen to one? As fair futures ope through a glory of hope, To the vision enchanted of youth; As the forces of right come on like the light, And triumph with justice and truth; So the prospect we see of swift vic- tory, When the battle at last is begun; Things are coming our way, ’tis the break of the day, For silver at sixteen to one. J. A. EDGERTON. Lincoln, Neb. military organization. Those who have given attention to the experien- ces of the world in military govern- ments, and especially to such as relied On military force for domestic peace, cannot but know that it is in such gov- ernments that order, property and life- are and have been the least secure. That there is an undercurrent of dis- content in this country is true. It is also true that dangerous outbreaks in evidence of it occur from time to time. It is only reasonable to say that this discontent has its! origin in real abuse and injustice, the lack of employment of labor due to the gold standard and its power to concentrate wealth in the hands of the few. It is folly for any one to say that our domestic discontent is without cause. Supporters of the American republic have but one course campaign speakers are only like so much chaff, are only made to influence their votes. With 11 cents tariff on wool the price is so depressed that it. change. ————— Cheap Men or Cheap Dollars? From the Nonconformist: Shall we have cheap men and dear dollars, or shall we have dear men and cheap dol- jars? Shall the man go up and the dollar go down, or shall the dollar go up and the man go down? Shall man- hood triumph over money and labor over loans, or shall money invoke mis- ery and the dollars of Shylock triumph over the souls of God’s deserving poor? These are questions we should ask and answer before .we think of voting fon a single gold standard. doesn’t pay to keep open the ex: * |