Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, September 28, 1901, Page 6

eee Coenen ae | } | j —-+- CHAPTER XV. (Continued.) “This is better even than I hoped feri™ she thought, with a radiant smile. “What a splendid young fellow that young fellow that Scotch doctor is! Ah, @ach men know how to love women! He ts worth a dozen Shirley Austins, yet he fs of the constant kind, too. Wheat e story for a romantic girl like lerice! Made love to a beauty; all @orts of treachery used to keep him wom her; his life in danger for her @ake; sick, wretched, near to death, ut always her adoring lover through @if When she hears his story, she will Be more in love with him than ever, and though he has returned poorer than when he went away, she will marry him even ff it was to cost her twenty mill- fens. Courage, courage, Kate Martin! Quly play your cards well, and Philip Gceaysen’s fortune will yet be all your ewnt™ CHAPTER XVI. Mere. Martin in a New Role. ‘We rest of that day and the greater mart of the night was spent by Mrs. Martin in revolving in her mind the tory she had listened to in the closet wmext to Austin’s room, and in the effort @a think out some effective way of winging it to the knowledge of Clarice. She feli asleep at last from utter ex- Yeeustion, without having fixed on any @atisfactory plan; but when she awoke fm the morning the whole maiter was pizin before her, and she smiled to| @bink how difficult it had seemed to her. She determined simply to write out the whole story just as {t was, and send %& to Clarice. Let Clarice but once know the truth as she had heard it, and gothing more would be required. “She will be more infatuated with ‘austin than ever,” thought the astute Setriguer. “The second attack of love fer the same object is like a relapse in @ever—the patient has the disease worse ¢han at first. And, talking of fever, I fhape this excitement isn’t going to make Shirley Austin sick again. But fey never Kills, they say, and a little good news judiciously administered now @ed then will help him on, no doubt. I must Grop a word of caution to Dr. Bethune. Clever and cool as he is, it is <vident that he will lose his head in this affair at the name of Adele Lin- @aré. Smart girl! I wish she would weward him for his constancy, though ‘amscrupulous people would think him toe good fer her. Clever girl! I could admire her if she played her cards just @ littie more cleverly; but it’s lucky for muy game she lacked skill and judgment {x playing hers.” Waving come to the end of her re- Mections, Mrs. Martin locked herself up ‘Gm her room, with orders that no one @haulé disturb her on any pretext, and -gat down to her desk. She began her letter in the form of a -marrative, and filled page after page. It made a very pretty little love story when she got through without signing ther mame. But she had not even at- teempted to disguise her handwriting, for she was indifferent as to whether Clarice should or should not guess from whom the letter came. “Let her but know the circum- vatances,” she thought, wisely enough. “She won't care from what source the ‘fmformation comes; and it will have all the more effect that I do not attempt to muake the communication anonymous.” “{ sign no name,” she wrote at the Bottow of the page, “because it might prejudice you against the writer of the above; neither do I seek to mislead you as to my identity, for I dare say you wil easily recognize my handwriting. em prepared to have my motives mis- understood, for, of course, it is to my @nterest to know that you will prohably gaarry Shirley Austin, in consequence of the contents of this «letter. But, part from that, I am always a sympa- thizer in the course of true love, and if muy letters had reached you, I might fhave prevented your marriage with Phitip Grayson, and all the misery which has come of it.” She enclosed her letter in a large; @trong envelope and sealed it with lack wax, and, in order that there wight be no question about it, she took @tself to the nearest letter box and dropped it in. On her return she found that Dr. Gethune had already called and gone. “He must have been in a hurry,” she aid te Gertha, who had given the in- formation, secretly delighted, for she could not have missed anything very important in so brief a visit. “Yes; he didn’t stay two minutes,” Bertha answered, her face flushing, een paling, while her voice trembled. “He said the sick gentleman was not so well to-day—excited and feverish. Oh, marmima, can he be worse again? It is guch a strange illness! What can it be? De you think he is much worse?” “Nonsense, child! Don't be ridiculous! What is there for you to worry about? You've done rothing to harm him, ex- «ept to wait on him like a slave, and eertainly thet might turn any young anan’s head; but I guess this one is @afe.” ¥£ Mrs. Martin had been less absorbed 4m her own plans, she might have seen that Bertha was changed from the gay, "ight-hearted girl she used to be—that she was nervous, excitable, easier made te weep, and all unlike her natural self; Ghe might have noticed that at her own fast words her daughter had grown deathiy paie. But she saw nothing of all this at present; and if she had, it is not likely that she would in any way have con- macted the change with the presence ot hiriey Austin in the house—a person Al Fatal. enmn Iharriage. SND ELIZABETH CAMPBELL. Land uncle’s will—most of which, however, they knew already from Robert Gray- son—but without any of the bitterness and rage against Clarice which would have colored her words had she spoken when she first returned on the previous day. “And much good may it do her, my dear girls. Perhaps we may get along just as well, though we are dependent upon her bounty to do us justice.” “Oh, mamma, don’t say anything hard of Clarice!” said Bertha, warmly. “I’m sure she will do all that’s fair and hon- orable by us.” “Yes, ma,” said Letty, “Uncle Robert told us that he was quite sure young Mrs. Grayson would carry out all his brotier wishes, and he thinks she’s pee deed!"sexclaimed Mrs. Martin, grinding her white teeth in silent rage. “Oh, why couldn’t I leave her wretch- ed and gain Philip’s money, too?” she thought. “But something must be sac- rificed, and I suppose it must be re- venge.” She quickly changed the subject, and the mother and daughters chatted away about more pleasing things. and Mrs. Martin forgot everything for a little while. When Dr. Bethune called on the fol- lowing day, Mrs. Martin took care to open the door for him herself. The young physician was so pale and worn that she could not forbear remarking it. “Yes,” he answered, “my mind has been disturbed about my patient,” and he passed her quickly and hastened up the stairs. Mrs. Martin followed, more leisurely, and, as soon as he had entered Austin’s room, she flew to the eavesdropping closet. But she heard nothing to reward her. Dr. Bethune stayed but a few minutes, and to Austin’s eager question, if he might soon venture to call on Clarice, answered that it all depended upon himself. The doctor then administered some medicine tnd left, charging his patient to be calm and hopeful, and promising the chance that Shirley might venture out within a few days. Three days passed in this manner, and Mrs. Martin began to chafe with impatience, but at last she was reward- ed by hearing a conversation that was, to her, of the Neepest importance, take place between Austin and Dr. Bethune. The two young men were already in conversation, and the first words she heard when she reached the listening place gave her to understand that Shir- ley had been entreating his physician to allow him to make an effort to see Clar- ice. “You see, my dear Frank, I have been up now for several hours every day for some time. I feel it would do me good and not harm to be out; and, oh, if you but knew how my soul cries out for her more than ever now I know that she is free! And what must she think of me that I have not sooner sought her? Since her husband is dead, she must ask herself a thousand times a day, ‘Why does not Shirley come, if he has really been faithful to m=? Why does he not come, if only to upbraid me?’ Ah, Frank, I cannot bear it any longer! I must see her or die—” “And you shall see her this day, if you are equal to it; but you have much to hear in the meantime. Yes, you are to hear me as your physician, and after that as your friend. The fever from which you have suffered is at last over- come, therefore, care and attention to my directions is all that you require. For the rest, I agree with you that sus- pense and anxiety are more wearing than even the serious responsibility you will presently find yourself burdeged with. The man whom Clarice Mow- bray married is dead, it is true, but his death was of a tragic and awful char- acter. He was murdered in broad day- light, and there are circumstances in regard to the murder of so mysterious and singular a character that suspicion has, quite naturally, fixed on you as the murderer.” A smothered exclamation of horror or indignation, and a movement which in- dicated that Austin had sprung violent- ly from his chair, was all that the list- ener heard in answer to these words; and, poor, though she considered her- self, Mrs. Martin would, at that mo- ment, have given a large sum of money for the privilege of seeing Shirley’s face. That being impossible, her ear was more closely pressed to the partition, in order that she might make up for be- ing unable to use her eyes. “You must kweep calm, Austin,” she heard Dr. Bethune say; in an impera- tive tone. ‘You know I would not tell you this if I could help it,” and he pro- ceeded to put, in the briefest and sim- plest words, the story of Phiiip Gray- son’s death and all the attendant cir- cumstances, as well as he khew them, concluding with: “I have kept every newspaper account of the tragedy since it happened, and I have even played the spy in your service. The two strong points against you are the weapon with which the murder was committed, and which Mrs. Grayson at once acknowl- edged to belong to her, while her moth- er was frightened into saying some- thing about her daughter having re- ceived the stiletto from you. That, of itself, is not much, but it is supposed that you possessed yoursclf of the stil- etto in the church at the time when Clarice fainted in your arms; but, of course, it is the simplest thing in the world for you to disprove that by ac- counting for vour time from that mo- ment until you fell insensible at Mrs, Martin’s, the same evening. As your physician, I will account for your time since then, and be your bondsman, if ‘whose name Bertha did not yet know, and whom the girl had never seen until about a fortnight ago. She went on quickly to her own room, threw off her hat and busied herself shout many little, household affairs; and, later in the day, she told her daughters many things regarding their necessary. The second and strongest point against you is known only to the private detective in charge of the case and to the good Samaritan in whose house you now are—Mrs. Martin, the sister of the murdered man.” A violent. start on the part of Mrs. Martin and an almost audible exclama- tion caused that lady to lose the next words, and to come very rear betraying herself. “That sly Scotchman!” she thought, in censternation, “he’s had me watched, and he knows about Clarice’s portralt— but no matter! Things are approach- ing a crisis now. But hark!" “Yes; it would be one of those singn- lar coincidences of which the world is full, if, had you been guilty, the sister of your victim had given you shelter. But we will not hint at anything so hor- rible, Austin. The second point is this: Mrs. Martin carried to the detective 4 miniature of Miss Mowbray, which had been one of the things stolen from the murdered man. This miniature, she in- formed the detective, she had found in your possession. At first I had no anx- iety or. the subject, knowing that you had also possessed a miniature of Clar- ice, but since hearing the shocking facts of your interview with—with—Adele, 1 know that your miniature was de- stroyed; but, of course, you can ex- plain how the other came into your pos- session. Good Heavens, Austin! what is the matter? You look pale and hor- ror-struck. What does it mean? You did not kill Philip Grayson, did you?” Concealed in the closet, Mrs, Martin breathlessly waited to hear what reply Shirley Austin would make to Dr. Beth- une’s momentous question. “You did not kill Philip Grayson, did you?” “I can tell you nothing, Frank, of what I did that day from the moment when I felt Clarice torn from my arms,” Shirley answered. “Of ccurse, I am in- nocent, so far as I know, but of the af- ter events of that terrible day I remem- ber nothing; my mind is a blank. I had no miniature of Clarice except the one destroyed by Adele Lingard. If one helenging to Philip Grayson was found in my possession, how came it there? Heaven have pity on me! I have re- gained Clarice, only to lose her again more terribly than ever. But, no! It can’t be—it is impossible. It is week and unmanly for me to give way like this. There must be some explanation of this mystery, and it is for me to find it out. I will go with you now, to po- lice headquarters, and then to sce Clar- ice.”” “You are right, and I will stand by you to the last dollar I own!” said Dr. Bethune, heartily. “The friends clasped hands fervently, but Mrs. Martin heard no more except the movement of footsteps to and fro, by which she understood well enough that Austin was preparing to go out with his friend. She would have liked to overhear any further remarks that might be made in regard to herself, for she had no doubt but that Bethune would warn Austin against her; but little she cared now what either of them might think of her. The chief aim of her existence would be accomplished when Shirley Austin became Clarice Grayson’s husbana, ‘Whether she would be looked upon as a friend or enemy in bringing about the union mattered nothing. “I have already sent word to Hant- lin,” she reflected, “that I believed my suspicions misplaced; besides which, he is evidently on another scent, anyway. If, after all; Austin should turn out to be the murderer, it would be a refine- ment of vengeance on Clarice, for she will marry him, anyway, whether he ts hung or let off, and the ghost of Philip will haunt her forever, ad I shall have nothing but profit and happiness all round.” With these consoling thoughts she glided noiselessly from the closet and from the room, and hastened to the se-~ clusion of her own apartment, the win- dows of which commanded a view of the street. Staticning herself by the front win- dow, she watched there until she heard the front door close, and then, peeping out for a moment, she saw Shirley and Bethune walk away arm-in-arm. ‘The convalescent looked pale and del- icate, and very slender, but irresistibly handsome; and Mrs. Martin thought, with a smile: “Clarice will receive him with open arms, and that wan face, with its great ark eyes, will plead more eloquently than an angel’s tongue in his favor. Ah, I know well what fools girls are! I rave been young and in love myself!” As she turned from the window there came a low, timid rap at the decor, and Mrs. Martin answered, briskly, “Come in!” for she wes expecting Bertha. “How pele you are!” she exclaimed, as her daughter entered, and, with a manner of subdued excitement, sank into a chair. “And you Icok a little fe- verigh, too—your eyes are not so bright; cr is it, perhaps, the effect of your deep mourning? Is anything the matter, Bertha?” ‘While she spoke, Mrs. Martin was looking more keenly than she had for some time at her pretty daughter, and she could not fail to see that Bertha was changed. But it was not an alarm- ing change. Bertha’s face looked more mature, without being older. . Her eyes were deep and lustrous with feeling, and per- haps a touch of feverish brightness. Her pallor was the pallor of sup- pressed emotion, not of ill-health, while the slight flush of excitement, that brought a fale bloom to her cheek ard a bright crimson to her lips, added to her good looks wonderfully. “The child is quite beautiful,” thought the proud mother. “Oh, if I had the money that belongs by right to me!” “Nothing is the matter, mamma,” Bertha answered to her mother’s last question. “But I was surprised to see our patient going cut with the doctor, He must be much better. Oh, how glad I am! But I wonéer where they are going? I’m too inquisitive, but I wish I knew.” “I think I can guess,” Mrs. Martin answered, lightly. “Mr. Austin-—I've learned his name at last—has gone to call on his lady-love, no doubt, though people may think him a little hasty, un- der the circumstances. Bertha—Oh, my child!” Bertha Martin had risen from her chair and reached her mother’s side at one step. With a grasp like iron she seized her mother’s arm, and her eyes, wild with agitation, asked the question her pallid lips could hardly frame. “Mother; mother! What—who did you say? Shirley Austin, the man who would have married Clarice! Speak to me; I must know!” “I said so—Shirley Austin, the lover of Clarice. Oh, Bertha, my child!” Bertha’s grasp relaxed; her arm drop- ped heavily; every vestige of color had fled from her face, and she fell fainting in her mother’s arms! . CHAPTER XVII. | Clarice. When Brian Mowbiay’s friends had expected much of him in his youth, it was not without fair reason. He had plenty of ability of its kind, and since he had undertaken to win fortune by means of his deughter’s beauty he had been eminently successful. The reading of his late son-in-law’s will had carried delight and triumph to his heart. In hig eyes it had but one fault. The clause which had given re- newed hope to Kate Martin carried dismay into Mowbrey’s mind, and the possibility that Clarice might lose the magnificent fortur:e and position thot his perseverence had won for her, by bestowing her hand on this eternally- troublesome Austin, loomed up like a gigantic shadow of evil in the near fu- ture. He determined to prevent it, and, after giving his whole mind to the subject hour after hour and day after day, he at last fixed on a plan of action. He determined that no letter from Shirley should reach Clarice, and that no meeting, accidental or other- wise, should take place between them, so that Shirley, believing himself for- gotten, as well as forsaken, would at last leave the city forever and cross her path no more. Mr. Mowbrsy began with making frierds of such of the servants as he thought most likely to favor his and their own interests, and, being a fair jucge cf faces, he attempted no bribery with Carl, the valet—who was soon to leave the establishment, anyway—nor with Leonce, whom he soon found to be devoted heart and soul to her mis- tress; nor with the cook or coachman. But he carefully studied Susan, and concluded to make ler a little present now and then; and, as he expected, Susan seemed grateful, and quite un- derstood his directions—thet al! letters coming to the house for Mrs. Grayson were to be br6ught to him first, in or der that he might be able to save dear Caughter any unneces ances. Notwithstanding which, on the next day ‘Susan, who was on the watch for the mail earrier, received a very heavy letter for Mrs -Geayson—the envelope of which was sealed with black wax— the girl considered with herself wheth- er or no she ouvgh< to let that letter pass through Mr. Mowbray’s hands first. Susan felt almost sure that she re- cognized Mrs. Martin’s handwriting, and it was, perhaps, well worth while to remair faithful to, an old friena, even at the expense of losing a new one. She was on the voint of slipping the letter into her pocket until a conven- ient mement to give it to Mrs. Gray- son,, when she felt a playful tap on her stoulder and saw Mr. Mowbray’s hand held out before her. “I will take that letter to Mrs. Groy- son, Susan,” he said. “I think this is one she has been waiting for.” And before Susan had reccvered her wits or her breath, the Ictter was safe in Mr. Mcewbray’s pocket, ang he was ascending the stairs, softly whistling. He did not go toward Clare's sitting room, however; but, as soon as he was out of Susan’s view, hastened to- ward his own apartment, which he en- tered, locking the door after him. A single glance at the letter told him from whom it came, as it was not the first letter of Mrs. Martin’s tat he had intercepted, and his eyes sparkled with malicious triumph. “I thought so!” he burst out, “from the black wax! What an infernal nuisance! Why the devil didn’t the woman merely seal it as usual? I can not take the chance of breaking it open, for it may contain something in regard to those law papers my over- generous daughter insists upon hav- ing drawn up; and it will never do to let Clarice know that I intercepted her letters. Neither is it possible to Iet this one pass on to her until I know its contents. But a seal, even of wax, is not going to scare me!” he concluded, with a sneering laugh, as he lighted the gas and, with infinite care and trouble, melted the seal in such a way that he could easily reseal the letter again, in case it was necessary to give it to Mrs. Grayson. The next moment the written pages were open before him and his eyes were eagerly devouring them; and, had Mrs. Martin been there to see, she must at least have been gratified with the in- terest with which her correspondence was read. “So, so!’ exclaimed Mowbray, having read to the last syllable. “A very pret- ty little story, indeed, Mrs. Martin, and well calculated to make your little game; but I think I have the card that wins this trick,” and without a mo- ment’s hesitation he held the letter 4na the enveicpe in the flame of the gas jet until they were burned to a cinder. “Ha, ha, ha, ha! That's disposed of, but how on earth did that woman find out this romantic story? Has she in- vented it? No; it bears the stamp of truth! Then she must know where Austin has been in hiding all this while. She has entered into a compact with the devil, I truly believe; and I will need all my wits to keep ahead of her. Austin will be here at any mo- ment. The wonder is that he has not eome before. I must see Clarice!” Mrs. Grayson was alcne in her bou- doir, as Leonce always called it. Jt was a small but luxuriousiy fitted sit- ting room, on the furnishirg of which Philip Grayson had spent what would have been a small fortune to Clarice Mowbray, and had exercised to the fullest extent his own very good taste in the selection of everything it con- tained. On a blue satin lounge was spread out the superb trousseau on which Mrs. Hattie Mowbray had ex- pended her energies, and which that dress-loving ledy was determined should not go to waste, although, for the present, the dresses were useless, recause of Mrs. Grayson’s mournirs. Clarice was idly lovking at the pile of beautiful dresses now, and halt- smiling at‘the extraordinary interest her mother took in such matters. “How I wish I could take an interest in such things!” she murmured, “or, indeed, in anything! Surrounded, overwhelmed, oppressed with luxury that I cannot enjoy, my life overshad- owed with an awful tragedy, and my heart yearning to see the one man in the world that I can ever love. Oh, Shirley, Shirley, have you left me for- ever? Do you despise me for the weak- ness that allowed me even to see m to forget you? Can it be possible? No, no, I will not wrong you by one unjust thought!” and with an effort she arose and shook off the thoughts that were too much for her, and which always left ker more despairing than before, since she could find no way out of the sea of sorrow and perplexity that sur- rounded her. “I will try to help mam- ma ahd Leonce about folding away these dresses,” she added, with a weary sigh, “at least, that will please mémma, and that seems all that is left to me now.” A knock at the door attrected her at- tention at the same-moment, and she called out, “Come in” without turning her head, “I was waiting for you, Leonce. Will it be better to fold these dresses lengthwise and lay them in a cedar trunk, or to let them hang in a ward- robe by themselves?” “The latter, { should judge, but no doubt Leonce can teli you better.” Clarice turned sharply, to find her- self face to face with her father, She drew back and seated herself on the nearest chair, and her reception of Mr. Mowbray was reserved and cold, as her manner always was with her father. Now, after the first shock of Shirley's return had passed away, she felt con- virceée that her futher had lied to hr, and that the entire tissue of falsehoods by which Shirley’s suppcsed death had been made to seem real to her, had been wrovght by Brian Mowbray. “7 would like to have a little conver- sation with you, my dear,” Mr. Mow- bray began, in his customary half-pat- ronizing, half-affectiorate manner, and taking no notice of his daughter’s fri.- id reception of him. “Well, father, I'm listening,” Clarice, submissively. “Have you completed your assistance in the legal documents that are giving away a great part of your fortune?” “Not quite; some are completed. The servants have all received such lega- cies as Mr. Grayson wished them to have; also, I have attended to such re- ligious and benevolent societies as were mentioned in the first will. Dr.Sprague and others, including Mrs. Martin and her children, and Mr. Robert Grayson, will be attended to before the close of the week.” “And then,” exclaimed Mr. Mowbray, “And what amounts are to be given to these various persons?” “Why father!” said Clarice, “even you cannot object to Mr. Grayson’s own brother and sister receiving a suitable portion of his money—money which they would probably have re- ceived entire but for me.” (To Be Continued. Maternal Instinct Exemplified. A fourteen-mile straw ride was the experience of a sitting hen, the property of Mr. Walter O. Ensor, of Strawberry Hill farm, near Cockeysville, a few days ago. Mr. Ensor had loaded the wagon with baled straw aboptt three weeks before, and consigned it to J. Norris & Son at Govanstown. Mr. Ensor, without dis- covering in the meantime that the hen had mude preparations to hatch out a brood of chicks in the wagon, left home at 2 o'clock in the morning and drove to Govanstown. The road is rough, and the wagon, having no springs, swayed from side to side as the wagon passed over slantifig places and gullies. The hen bore all with silent patience, and her presences was not discovered until Mr. Ensor was about to unload. Mr. Norris bought the hen and eggs and placed them in a more secure nest. She soon settled down to business, and the outcome will be watched with ihterest, —Baltimore Sun. Poor » “Heaven help me! miracle can save me from ruin now he cried, casting the morning paper wildly from him. “Why, what’s the matter, old chap?” Are you away on the wrong side of the market?” asked his friend. “No; oh, no!” he groaned, with pallid lips, “but this paper credits me with having made a_ million in the last month—and my wife’s sure to see it!” —Town Topics. said an. Nothing but a This Yenr's Style. “There’s a new style of spring bonnet out, my dear,” remarked Mr. Snaggs to his wife. “What sort of a spring bonnet is it?” she asked, in some surprise. “I thought I knew more than you about the styles, put you seem to be taking notice in your old age.” “It's a backward spring bonnet, my dear.”—Pittsburg Chronicle-Telegraph. Playes ann Lost. “TJ have played a desperate game, and I have lost!” remarked the stage villain, just before his final disappear- ance. “But you are a darned sight better off than we are,” murmured a tired- looking man in the front row. “We paid money to get in.”—Boston Jour- nal. A Fatal Snag. “Yes,” said Miami Brown, “we've done give up de Shakespeare club.” “What made de trouble?” inquired Mr. Erastus Pinkley. “It done happened when we put on ‘Othello.’ Dar wasn’t no one iy de club dat could let his pride down to doin’ a cullud impussunation.”— Washington Star. His Estate. Towne—Didn’t Goodman leave any- thing at all? Browne—Oh, yes; pated immediately. Towne—The idea! What was it? Browne-—-An exemplary reputation, but two widows appeared to claim it.— Philadelphia Press. but it was dissi- In the Presence of Greatness. Parke—I suppose you have great hopes of that new baby of yours, haven't you? Lane—Well, yes, I have, old man. When I think of what! that baby is likely to be, I-fairly tremble at my own insignificance.—Detroit Free Press. One Condition. Miss Askum—I see a prominent phy- sician says ripe cherries will surely prevent seasickness. Do you believe it? Dr. Wise—Certainly; provided you sit up in the tree while you eat them.— Philacelphia Press, Easily Explained. “Why does Ethel swing in the ham- moc with her back to the street?” | “She's getting her fancy stockings laundried.”—Cleveland Plain Dealer, DETECTIVE DEDUCTION. Sherlock Holmes, Jr., Again Shows What He Can Do. “Aha!” exclaimed Sherlock Holmes, Jr. His companion started as one who is recovering from a fit, and ask- ed: “What is it?” “Did you notice the man who passed us just now? There he is looking at the pictures in the window of that news store.” “What about him?” “He is the father of a little child. His wife has to take care of the baby, because they can’t afford to keep a nurse girl, and cnce he ran a needle under his thumbnail.” “Who is he?” “I haven’t heard his name Until he passed us a moment ago Et was not aware that there was such @ person as he in existence.” “Now, Sherlock don’t try to make me be- ‘lieve that you are not gifted with a mysterious power of some kind that enables you to fathom things which are forever hidden from the knowledge of other people. I believe you are the seventh son of a seventh son or some- thing of that kind. I almost feel creepy when IT am in your company.” “My dear fellow,” the great amateur detec- tive answered, “you are foolish to per- mit yourself to entertain such absurd notions concerning me. I am not supernatural, honestly I’m not. I was born near Scrubgrass, Pa., of poor pa- rents, who were too ignorant to under- stand that it was foolish to work when there are so many people waiting to be worked. No, it is simply my won- derful rower of deduction that enables me to make these discoveries. Just one little thing about this man tells me what I have disclosed to you con- cerning him. He can’t afford to hire a nurse girl, and he is the father of a little child. How do I know this? If he didn’t have to count the pennies he would have his clothes kept in good condition by some tailor.” “Very well, but how do you know he has a young child and that his wife takes care of it?’ “One of his suspenders is fastened to his trousers with a safety pin. You see it is plain enough. If his wife didn’t have to take care of the baby she would sew a button on for him, and without a baby in the house there would be no loose safety pins for him to get hold of. The fact that he once ran a needle under his thumbnail keeps him from sewing the button on himself.” A pretty young woman who wore one of these thin shirt waists. which have a tendency to sag passed then, and Mr. Holmes hurried after her to make further deductions.—Chicago Record-Herald. THIS WOMAN IN WHITE. Her Appearance in the Financial Quarter Calls a Halt. There was a break in the curb mar- ket in Broad street one day recently. Not a break in prices, but a break in the transaction of business. Minutes are weighty there, even though busi- ness be done under the sky for a roof, and it is not often that selling and buying are suspended utterly for even a minute. But they were this day, and the cause was a woman. Young, tall, fair and inclined to fullness of form, the woman swung—swung is the correct term for her rate and method of progression—into Broad street, out of Exchange place. She wore a shirt waist and skirt in which there was no tint of color; all was pure, dazzling white. Her hat, too, was all white,straw and trimmings as well, and around her throat was a flowing white scarf of lace. Her sleeves reached not quite to her el- bows, hugging her round arm tightly. and were finished with a full ruffle of lace. Without a pause she cut diagon- ally across the street, looking neither to the right nor to the left as she trip- ped daintily over several damp spots on the asphalt. As she passed the “crowd” several in it turned and said something to each other. In every in- stance every man of them had turned trom business and was watching the woman as she went carefully, or care- lessly, on her way. Nor did business begin again until sho had turned into Wall street, in the direction of the terry. Not a word was spoken until the woman Was out of sight, and then there was a chorus of sighs as bidding and offering again began. But one man who stood on the edge of the crowd said, and his expression was ap- proved by all who heard it: “That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in Wall street, but she walks with the lope of a red Indian.” And he was right, for her face and form were as marvelously beautiful as her gait was wonderf:11 and unique.—New York Tri- bune. The Pastor's Farewell. A country minister in a certain town took permanent leave of his congrega- tion in the following manner: “Broth- ers and sisters, I come to say good-by. I don’t think God loves this church, because none of you ever die. I don’t think you love each other, because you have not paid my salary. Your do- nations are moldy fruit and wormy apples, and ‘by the fruits ye shall know them.’ Brothers, I am going away to a better place. I have been called to be chaplain of a penitentiary. I go to prepare a place for you, and may the Lord have mercy on your souls! Cood-by.”—New Berlin Gazette. Gen. Charles W. Darling of Utica, N. Y., is the r of a pair of elk horns that measure 9 feet and 3 inches. from tip to tip across the skull, and they have a spread of 53% inches. The beam lengths are 55 and 56% inches, and of the ten prongs the longest are 16 and 17 inches. The only larger pair known are 12 feet from tip to tin, They are in Germany. 2 } | }