The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, June 16, 1895, Page 14

14 THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, JUNE 16, 1895. CHAPTER XX. June had come—a radiant June—and all at Frayne was joyous anticipation, despite the momentous fact that the Platte had overleaped its bounds and was raging like some mad mountain torrent far as the eye could see. The flats to the west of the post were one broad, muddy lake. The grassy bench beneath the bluffs to the east was partially torn away. Partof Bunko Jim’s trontier stronghold still clung to the opposite bank, but some of it was dis- tributed in driftwood long leagues down [ W stream. Across the river, at a point halfa mile above the ruin of the ferry-house, a troop of cavalry, caught on return from scout, had pitched its tents and picketed its horses, and was waiting for the falling of the waters to enable it to return to its since buried, so far as he was concerned, just about the happiest fellow that wore the army blue. The expedition had proved even longer than was planned, but at last, while Wayne with Armory and the recaptured cattle and rounded-up Shoshones went over the Owl Creek Mountains to render account of his stewardship at Fort Washakie. Will was told to make the best of his way home- ward with his own command, and, march- ing leisurely along in the radiant spring mornings through a country unmatched for wild beauty in ail America, shooting, fishing, plunging in mountain streams, sleeping dreamlessly in the open air by night, they reached the valley of the Platte toward mid June. The blessed landmark | of the Eagle Buttescame in sight one peer- less morning. The blue summits of the Medicine Bow loomed up across the hori- zon to the southeast. The flag-tipped bluffs of old Fort Frayne would greet their eyes before the close of {o-morrow’s march, and so they did—but with a raging\ torrent tearing at their base, and this was Monday, and less than forty-eight hours to Will's wedding day. Meanwhile there had been a partial re- union within the walls of the fort, and | already a joyous bevy of army folks had | gathered in anticipation of the June wed- | dings, with Kitty Ormsby as the center of | attraction, since she was the colonel’s | niece, and he was to give her away, and ‘ayne was to be best man, by order of the bride, provided he didn’t get things mixed in his own inimitable way and turn up un- expectedly in some one else’s affair, as he aid the night of the Willetts’ dinner to Captain and Mrs. “Billy”’ Ray of the —th, where, with army bonhomie, a seat was squeezed in close beside that of the win- “ AND THE OTHERS CONSIDERATELY MOVED AWAY.” { brother to save whom Malcolm Leale had periled life and lost his sight, the girl’s eyes seemed gradually to open to the utter cruelty of her suspicions, the injustice of her treatment of Helen Daunton, the woman whose life that very brother had well-nigh wrecked forever. In the lon, hours of her convalescence she had turne to Helen in humility that was sweet to see, and now the love and trust between them was something inexpressible. But there was - something even Helen could | neither explain nor justify, and that was Jack Ormsby’s’ conduct since her couvalescence. ~True, Ellis had told him in their last interviewthat all was at an end between them, and he had forfeited trust,daith, and even respect, and placed a barrier between himself and her forever. She had refused him further audience, and her last words to him had been full of scorn, even of insult. But no word of anger or resentment had escaped him, and surely no man who deeply loved would | harbor anger now. Sobbing her heart out, the girl had thrown herself on Helen’s breast just before their return to Frayne, and told a part of her story until then con- | cealed, how, in theirlast interview, Ormsby had gently said that he would vex her no more with his pleadings, but if a time | should ever come when her eyes were opened and when she could believe him honest and worthy, he would come at her call, and she had humbled herself and called, but all in vain. To Helen she told the whole story of that humble letter, and that neither by word nor sign had he acknowledged it. But Helen saw a ray of hope. The little note had been intrusted to Wayne late that Thursday night, and he had promised to deliver 1t early Friday morning, and all that day had Ellis waited eagerly, and nightfall came without the looked-for visit. ‘Wayne came on Saturday to convey some conventional words of farewell from both officers, so surprised to hear of the sudden return from California, sorry not to have seen them, but time was very short, and—would she never hear the last of the Seventh?—Ormsby had had to attend the review at the armory Friday night, and | then there was just time torejoin Leale and get him aboard, for their sailed at 7 A. M. to catch the ear Sandy Hook. Falteringly, Ellis had asked if he were sure he had’ given Ormsby her note—if—if Mr. Ormsby had read it. e\’ayne was quite positive. But Helen would not believe, and, with unabated hope, she awaited Wayne's re- turn to the post. They arrived a week be- fore him, for on leaving his charge at Washakie the previous month he had hur- ried straight to Washington in response to a summons from the Secretary of War, had made his report and then gone to New York. Not until the Monday before the wedding did he reappear, and then only by determined effort did Helen cor- ner him long enough for the cross-exam- ination. *Certainly,” said Wayne, *I re- member the note perfectly well. T put it with one from the club that I found there and handed both to him together. He’ll be _here to the wedding. He's coming right along with Kitty. I'll ask him again, if you like.” “Don’t dare ever mention it, major, or that I asked any questions concerning it. How long has he been back?” asked Helen, with vivid interest, another question up- permost in her mind. “‘Nota week. Just back, you know. I only saw him a minute. I was just start- ing for the train. He looked astonishingly well, and you know T forgot to ask was Leale better. He was full of his wedding preparations.’ - “Her wedding preparations—Kitty's— you mean, do you not, major?” “No, his; I give you my word. He said Izood ship y tide at station, and with that troop, the maddest man in all Wyoming, was Lientenant Will Farrar. Six or seven weeks previously an order had come to Fenton to send two troops to scout the western slopes of the Big Horn, and keep the peace between settlers and | the Shoshones, Time was when these lat- ter rarely ventured across the Big Horn River, partly through fear of the Sioux, who claimed sovereignty over all the lands east of the Shoshone preserves in the Wind River Valley, partly through regard for the orders of their loyal old chief, Wash- akie, who for long, long years of his life had kept faith with the Great White Father, held his people in check and suffered the inevitable consequences of poverty and neglect, the policy of the In- dian Bureau being to load with favors only those of its wards who defy it and deal death to the whites. Settlers seldom en- croach upon the Sioux, those gentry being abundantly able and more than will- ing to take care of themselves, but the Shoshones had known long years of ener- vating veace, and being held in subjection by their chief became the natural prey of the whites, who mistook subordination for subservience, as is natural to free-born Americans, and as easily adopted by fel- low-citizens of foreign birth; and who'soon began to encppach on their own account, stealing Shofhone crops and cattle an. promptly accusing the army officer on duty as agen{ of cattle-stealing and all-round rascality when he reseized the cap- tured stock. Then, while this baE- gered official was de!endiu% himself in court, the Shoshones had to defend them- selves in the field, and that peripatetic buffer between the oppressor and the op- pressed, the corporations and the cranks, the law and the lawless—the much-bedev- iled army—was sent out as usual to receive the slings and arrows of outrageous for- tune and of both parties. Finding it diffi- cult to swindle the Shoshones so long as their new agent—the army agent —re- mained in power, the obvious thing was to down him by misrepresentation at ‘Washington, and, if that didn’t work, by deft manipulation of the local law. Of course they dian’t expect to prove him guilty of anything, but there was no law against lying, and they could compel him to come into court and prove himself inno- cent, and leave his unarmed wards to the mercy of the settler in the meantime, and s0 it happened that thecc were high jinks up the Wind River valley and_along those wonderful ranges in the wildvalleys of the Gray Bull, the Meeyero, the Meecteet- see, north of the Owl Creek Mountains, and the cavalry having long since | Bullets, similarly tethered, snapped their been ~ withdrawn from that section, |frail attachments and. whivles oo that was how the detail fell on|the opposite shore and told no tale old Fort Frayne. “You can straighten matters out 1yn a_month,” said the com- manding officer to Major Wayne, who had hastened back from the East to_take com- mand, and when it came to_selecting the troops to go, even though it lacked less than two months to his wedding day, Will Farrar gloried in the fact that his was one of them. It was hard to conceive of a lot in which a spirited, soldierly fellow of twenty-one could possibly be happier than commanding a troop of cavalry on an ex- pedition through so gloriousa country. Amory’s troop and le’s were desig- nated, and the latter captain being stiil in Berlin and the senior subaltern on staff duty in the East, Farrar was his own cap- tain and troop commander, and, despite the troubles of the Christmas season, long | some guest of the evening, and where he | was charmingly welcomed and made at home, despite the fact, which dawned upon him ounly with the champagne, that he was due at the Amorys’, where | {a similar function was being held in | honor of the Truscotts of the same regi- | ment, then on the march from Kansas to | Montana. “You'll rue it, Kitty, that ever | you insisted on my having Wayne for best man,” wrote poor Will, with prophetic but unavailing protest. “Wayne had saved no one but Wayne woald do. **All right,” said Will, “but if you find, years later, that there’s been some fatal flaw in the proceedings, don’t blame me."” But here, on this glad June morning, all sunshine and serenity aloft, all perturba- tion at the post, all raging river about it, it looked as if the proceedings themselves would be delayed, and - that instead of a military wedding in the post chapel at high noon, with everybody en grande tenue, there would be no wedding at all, even though Will, like a modern Leander, swam this wild Western Hellespont in search of his bride. PFar away to the east the floods had swept their batfering ram of logsand trees and dashed it against the bridge abutments at the railway, and though the Farrars were safely here, and had been for several days, Kitty's train, that whi¢h bore her and Jack on' their westward way, had been brought up standing long miles to- ward Cheyenne, and there was no tellin; when the passengers could be tmns!erreg to the waiting cars upon the hither shore. And so, each believing the other in wait- ing at the post, bride and groom elect woke to their wedding morn to rail at fate. It would have been some comfortwould they have known that though miles apart, they were at least on the same side of the stream that swept between them and the aitar of their hopes. And there was deep anxiety under the roof where once again the Farrars were installed, for the ‘mother was possessed with the fear that Willy would be mad enongh to try to swim the stream, and thoqsh Fenton had had his signalmen out forbidding any such attempt, no acknowl- edgment had been received to the effect that the repeated message was understood. An Indian, who thought he could cross at Casper Rocks, several miles up stream, was swept from his pony and only saved by the strength of .his horsehair lariat. A scow that was launched at the bend was battered to flinders, and bottle after bottle, corked and slun, long yards out into the stream, went bbin derisively away, carrying their penciled contents w[!h them. ~ Arrows, with silken strings at- tached, dropped helplessly in the stream. her Willy,” was the positive rejoinder, and | poor Lucretia’s sorrows. 50, you know. He told me the lady's name—part of it, at least—Effie something. 1 can’t recall it just now. He'll tell you. Oh, it was all on that account, you know. Kitty couldn’t start sooner. She had to wait for him.” Helen was astounded. It was news she declared she would never believe, and yet she remembered having heard mention of an attractive cousin, a Miss Effie Leale, and might it not have been possible that, in his wanderings—with the blinded in- valid—with his own sore heart, Jack Ormsby had met and found consolation in this fair relative of his stricken friend; that she in turn had quickly learned to ad- mire the manly fellow, who was so devoted to their particular hero? At all events, it was something not to be mentioned to Ellis, said Helen, But what was the use? Wayne told it to Lucretia; Lucretia to a dozen during the day. It was all over the post before night, and, despite Helen's effort, Ellis heard it among the first. One more among the many with which to usher in Will’s day! At 10 that beautiful June morning there was something more than_ pathetic about hile Fenton, | Mrs. Farrar, Helen, silent, brave-faced | Ellis, and a dozen sympathetic souls from all over the post were gathered on the north piazza, overhanging the biuff and mishaps wedding | the roaring waters of the Platte, signaling to Will and watching eagerly his vigorous movements, the lady of the house re- mained within doors, wept unceasingly, and refused to be comforted. “'It is dreadful to think of the condition that chicken-salad will be in,” she moaned. “It is preposterous to talk to me of pa- tience! I've said all along it was to be an unlucky day, because you all know per- fectly well—at least if you don’t you ought to—that it is just thirteen years ago this day we were all gathered at Fort Crook for the funeral of Captain Crocus, which was to take place the moment the ambulance got in from the front, and the band was all ready—and the escort and the hearse—and —and after all the whole thing had to be abandoned, for when the ambulance got in there were no remains at all—at least there were, but they weren’t ready for burial be- cause they’d revived and were sitting u; and saying shocking things. Why, I thin! a wedding without a bride is ten times worse than a funeral without a—without a—’ But here, it must be_admitted, the burst of laughter in which Rorke indulged was too much for her determination to weep, and, blazing through her tears, the maiden demanded explanation of his unseemly conduct. Rorke was a permanent member of the colonel’s establishment now, but.he could not risk Miss Lucretia’s displeasure, and was wise and knew his danger, and fled to the kitchen, there to tell the cook and Chinaman the lady’s plaintive mono- logue, while Amory, equally conscience- less, ran out to convulse with it the party on the porch, And then, in the midst of all the laughter, came delirious news from the “best man,” sent to meet the bride and Ormsby at the station and break to them the direful news that ‘the bride- room was late.”” The train had passed etterman Bend. - The bride would be there in twenty minutes. And she came—and what a scene there was! And how she was hugged and kissed and mauled and pulled about and how she strove to tell of her tribulations and coula not for the volume of welcome, exclama- other than that of anxiety. Every field- glass at the post, when brought to bear. Tevealed Farrar at 9 o'clock of his bridal mormns striding and probably swearing up and down the bank, tugging at his tin mustache and sprouting beard and possi- bly threatening seli-destruction. It was th?ll]lmg scene. i 5 en many other people seemed bur- dened with “troubles !:)f ghair own. Ellis had never recovered either strength or spirits since the events of that Christmas week, and her lovely face was thin and the bl:lght brave eyes of old were shadowed with a pathetic sorrow, but, though this sorrow had come into her life, another one, much harder to bear, had been swept aside. Ever since her lover's words had revealed to Ellis that 1t was her own tion and interrogation, and not until trunks, boxes and what alls had been whisked away to her room aloft and some- body said it was almost 11 o'clock did she find breath and opportunity to say, “Gracious heavens! 'And I'm to be mar- ried at noon! And nota thing done yet ! Why! Wh——where's Willy ?" Aghast, they looked at one another. Was not all this to have been explained b; Wayne? Hadn’t Wayne told her? Tols her? Told her what? All Major Wayne said to her about Willy was that he was almost frantic with impatience to meet me, but he’d—he'd have to take his bath first. What did he mean by sending such ridiculous stuff? What were they all laughing—crying at? Isn't here? Couldn’t cross? Can’t he swim? Why, the man she thought he was would swim Niagara rather than miss his wedding day! And then—oh, day of days! Perhaps her words annihilated space and reached the ears of the maddened lover, for at the very moment came an Irish howl from the porch without: > “Ob, fur the luy of God!' Shtop him! Dan’t let him] Oh, mother of Moses, it's drownin’ he is]” andthen, a!l shrieks and ferror, did most of the party scatter for the alconies, while, all shricks and terror, and protestations that she’d never speak to himragain if he dared to, Kitty eollapsed upon a sofa. .. Was ever there a wedding day to match it? Soaked to the skin, dripping but tri- umphant, Will Farrar rode out of the floods and up the heights, amidst the frenzied acclamations of the garrison, and throwing himself from the saddle at the colonel’s gate, demanded to see—if not squeeze his bride. There were they gath- ered—the elite of Fort Frayne—some in wedding garb, some in traveling dress, and what a cheer went up as he sprang to the porch, and his mother wanted to clasp him, dripping through he was, to her heart of hearts, Not 50 come near me, you dreadful thing!”’ she cried. And laughing and Protesting, he was led away, to be caparisoned for the ceremony. Lucretia’s spirits were once more in ebullition. Wayne was back; the remains had come, so why longer delay— proceedings? 3 There were not. There was as blithe and bright and joyous a soldier wedding that perfect noon day as was ever seen within the walls of old Fort Frayne, and Kitty made a bewitching bride and there was a won- derful unloading of sorrow irom heart after heart onto the shoulders of one luckless, sorely tried man—DMajor Percival Wayne. Oh, Mad Anthony! but here wasone of thy descendants ten times worthy of thy name! In that one day there came crushing in upon him the consequences of a genéra- tion of missing. - It was enough that he should have failed to explain matters to Kitty. It was worse when he took the first opportunity to ex- plain matters to Jack. His way of doing it was somewhat as follows, and they were Kitty, “Don’t you | him into the lately crowded patlor, and he k;:g:v the touch and thrilled with the joy of it. “Helen!"” he cried. “They"told me all were gone. What a blessed welcome! I've been so long in exile! With your voice, the old home feeling I've been groping for comes to me through the dark. g dhcn—n is still dark with you, she fal- tered. There was a moment's pause. The band had just ceased the jovous march with | which it had “trooped” the wedding party into the chapel, and then, as though in ac- companiment to the ceremony just begin- ning and to the sweet romance already throbbing here, the exquisite strains of the ““Traumerei” softly thrilled upon the fra- grant air. “Helen!" he spoke, his deep voice trem- bling, as did the hand that still clung to hers. “You know that for me the lights went out before ever that powder-flash crossed my eyes.” Shestrove, hardly know- ing why, io release her hand. ‘No, dear,” he went on gently, “don’t be afraid I have come back to vex you with my sor- rows; but listen, they wiil all be here in a moment. I wentaway hoping to teach my heart a friendship for you that should give me the right to come again and serve you as your friend. When I found that it was almost sure thatIshould walk in dark- ness all my life, I said: ‘Now at least I can accept the blessing of her friendship—even as she offered it to me.” A man maimed and set apart from his fellows can learn thankfulness for a great good, though it is not his heart’s desire.” And here his graceful head was bowed and silently her tears came gushing forth. *But time has taught me ttnt falsity of that,"’ he went on, firmly now. ‘‘You shall never misunder- stand me. Even in the dark my pulse-beat ano the lie to friendship. I loved you! I ove you, and so—have come to say a long 7 y. I've made my fight to be your and failed. At least I have been a soldier. I will not be a coward.” She could control herself no longer. Though she had freed her hands she seemed involuntarily stretching them forth. Then leaning upon the table for i support, one hand found the glove that he P r——— i PRLL); i) T e e e s et N «;wfi" I\ \\k\\\ \\\-\s‘\”&i‘;\\m 3 o ) ) ’ A “ DRIPPING BUT TRIUMPHANT.” dressing for the ceremony, and Jack, gor- geous in his full-dress uniform as a lieu- tenant of the Seventh, was sick at heart over the cold, constrained greeting accorded him by Ellis. “Why, of course, old fellow, you didn’t impose silence on me, and I s'pose I let out about your engagement—" “My what?’ says poor Jack, aghast. “Your engagement. You faid, even to attend Kitty’s weddin%, You couldn’t get away until yours was fulfilled—on the 10th, wasn't it?” ; ‘“‘Certainly—our annual inspection. No man in the Seventh would miss that for love or money.” “But, Jack, don’t you know? I'm sure you told me a lady was in the case. You told me her name, and—indeed, ypu did— that Effie and yon wereto be tied—"" “You transcendental idiot! T told you ‘F’ and ‘I'—Company F and Company 1— were tied for place, and neither dare lose a point.’” And then, instead of smashing Wayne, as was first thought, Jack fled downstairs in search of Ellis, and found her, and told Wayne’s story, and then” his own, breath- lessly, eagerly, -implorinfi]y. and there were blushes and tears and soft laughter, and soft, happy murmfrs, andi—and how horribly these big epaulets-get in the way, and service medals and soutache braid scratch—things at such times! And at last did Jack uplift his voice afiam to say, “Ellis, I'm in heaven!” and then did she uplifta blushing, tear-stained, kiss-rumpled face to archly inquire, ““A seventh heaven, Jack?’ and then did old Fenton come blustering in to take a veteran’s share in the engagement. It was known all over the house before the wedding started. - Then came the next scenein Mad An- thony’s play. Amory and the chaplain declare to this day that when the party was duly marshaled at the altar the major clicked his heels together and raised his hand in salute, and began, ‘“‘8ir, the Earnde is— when_ Ormsby caught the and and brought it down, but when it came to the ring there was consternation, To the horror of the groom, the despair of the bride, but to the marked and tremu- lous emotion of Aunt Lucretia, the circlet E:oduced for the occasion by the dazed st man was an old-fashioned, but beauti- ful cluster of flashing gems. Only by a miracle did it happen that the other. ring was in his possession. How the mixture occurred there was no time to tell, until later, when all were gathered, for there were two whose fortunes we have followed through these long, long chapters who were absent from the ceremony—who, in fact, were having one of their own, and to these two, while the band without is softly glnying in front of the chapel, and in eagcr undreds the men are gathered to cheer the bride and groom on their reappear- ance, let us turn—and listen. “No, dear Mrs, Farrar,” were Helen Daunton’s words, as the eager guests were pouring forth to the wedding. ‘““They are bringing him_here—even now—so that he may welcome Will and Kitty on their re- turn from the wedding he cannot see.” And no sooner was the party fairly at the chapel than there drove to the colonel’s door the old Concord, and two soldiers as- sisted to alight, and led to the doorway, the soldierly form of Captain Leale, his eyes still covered by the deep green shade. It was Helen Daunton’s hand that guided [bad removed and laid there. He had | withdrawn a pace and uplifted his head as | though the blighted eyes were striving to | peer from under their shade for one look at the face they had gazed upon in such assionate farewell so many months be- ore. The strains of the ‘““Traumerei” were still thrilling softly through the open casements, and, overcome with emotion, tendcr’fls and passion, Helen bent and laid her soft lips in fervent pressure on the senseless glove. Then the room rang with a sudden, startling, joyous crv. The shade went whizzing into space, and_the next instant Leale had sprung to and seized her in his arms. “‘Helen, darling—not that! Don’t waste those kisses,”” and she sank sobbing in his arms just as, grand, joyous, triumphant, the strains of the wedding march burst forth, re-echoing among the ‘walls of old Fort Frayne. Rorke was the first man to come tearing in to announce the return_of the wedding party and the guests, but Fenton was close at his heels.“on h%svpituble care intent,” and exploding over Wayne’s performances, There was no time for a formal reception. ‘‘Proceedings’ had been delayed wel nigh an hour as it was, and the eastbound train wasreported unaccountably on time. Bride and bridegroom, bridesmaids, ushers, bach- elors and benedicts, maids and matrons. Fort Frayne seemed surging tumultuously up the ¢olonel’s steps, surrounding and be- deviling poor Wayne to the verge of dis- traction. He laid the blame on his spring overcoat, a venerable garment of the fashion of twenty years agone, but that he had soseldom worn as to cause it to seem to him ever new and available, and for this garment he darted into the adjoining quar- ters, while the laughing guests came trip- ping “E‘o the steps in the wake of the bride, who, totally ignoring Helen and Leale now, who were gazing into each other's eyes in the deep bow-window, rushed at her uncle with characteristic and explosive abuse. 7 “I’ll never be married at Fort Frayne again as lon’ as 1 livel What on earth did Major—" but she could go no further, for the shout of laughter that greeted her sally, and the exclamations which re- sulted from the discovery of Leale and Helen crushed her completely. And then the bride was rushed awaf to doff her finery and reappear in traveling garb, and then Will was hustled to his quarters to change his full-dress uniform for the con- ventional garb of civic life, just as Wayne came in, dazed, half demented, overcoat in‘one hand and a package in the other, that he now half-dreamily held forth to Ormsby, who took it as wonder- ingly, opened and began slowly counting over a number of greenbacks, sole contents of the wrapper, but he dropped them as of little consequence, when the be- wildered major produced a moment later another—a little note from the depths of an inner pocket. They were all crowding around him now, but at sight of this missive Ellis made a spring and captured it, only just in time, and was seized in turn by Ormshy, who pleaded for &osuusion of what was plainly addressed him, and then came renewed uproar, for Will reappeared in uniform trousers and unfastened blouse and a towering rage. “0Of all things that,could have hap- pened to a man think of this,”” he cried. “Major Wayne, didn’t you promise me from the field to send that dispatch to Hatfield the moment you got to the post?'’ “I did, and I pledge my solemn word | that I keptit. Isentit the very first post I struck.” “You did, for a fact, you moonstruck— OF, but just listen, all of you. Instead of my traveling suit here’s what I find—a let- ter from Hatfield, forwarded from Fort ‘Washakie. *DearSir: In accordance with | your telegraphic instructions we have this day forwarded to you a cutaway tweed traveling suit by American Express, and | trust the same is, etc., ‘also statement of'— um, never mind that—‘We are’—now, mark this, all of you, good people—‘we are somewhat at a loss to understand your sudden change of address, but are com- pelled to act on your telegram, a copy of which is inclosed. ‘‘Fort Washakie, May 25. Have tweed cutaway traveling suit here by 13th prox. without fail. W. Far- rar.”’ " Fort Washakie! Gracious powers! Think of my traveling suit at Washakie and I here and the train coming!”’ “But Willy, dear,” said his mother, soothingly, *‘surely you can wear for jusva day or two last yeat’s suit.” “That? Now? Why, heavens ablaze! Rorke couldn’t squeeze me into it with a shoehorn. T’ll q}lave to travel in my pajamis, Oh. couldn’t I muraer you, Ma- Jor Percival Wayne. 3 Poor Wayne’'s cup was indeed full to overflowing. Martin and some of the youngsters lugged Will off to squeeze him into his last year’s garments, made on cadet measure, and then down came Kitty, the bonniest of brides, in the daintiest and most coquettish of costumes, and while Rorke and his satellites were passing the champagne, and everybody—no, almost everybody—was crowding about the bride, there stood poor Wayne still diving into those long-forgotten placer mines of his pockets and fetching up bills and billets and odds and ends, while Lucretia tremu- lously, and Fenton, Farwell and Amory delightedly, watched him, and then came a new excitement. Enter Will, squeezed at lact into the light-gray tweeds he had so complacently donned a_year before ana that now' fitted him like the skin of a sausage. A sudden move of one arm car- ried away the breast button. “It’s no use!” he cried. *‘I'm worse off | than Peggoty. Every jump’s a button?” and then Kitty canght sight of him and then there was a scene. : ““What's that?'’ she exclaimed. “That isn’t the man I married. I won’t stira step with him in those things.” g “But I haven’t any other,” pleaded Will, in despair. ' ““Who wants you to wear such things,” she fairly screamed, in almost hysterical laughter. “I married a soldier. Your uni- form, sir, your best blouse and trousers and forage cap, and don’t you dare wear | cit till T tell you.” | And, as it was manifest that he couldn’t wear these now encasing him, the groom a third time hastened away to the upper re- gions, and while dozens clustered as before about Kitty, an absorbed group still hung upon the movements of the major. The light, as of other days, was dawning on his face. He was searching still, and at last he found and drew forth a tiny box, at sight of which Lucretia’s maiden heart fluttered almost out of her throat. *‘And, now, what have you unearthed, old Rip Van Winkle?” boomed Fenton. “A ring, by all that's gorgeous—a ring, and a beauty, and an inscription on it—P. W. to L. F., 1874, Who'sP. W.? Who's?”’ —but a glance at his sister’s transfigured face as she tottered there at nis side warned the old warrior to desist. ‘Wayne was panting with excitement. “I know,” he cried. *‘Of course, it wasn’t my classring; it was this. T gotit for’—and here he turned and drew her to his arm, and the others considerately moved away, as at last that ring was fitted to the finger that had been waiting for it twenty long years, Five minutes more, and with Rorke lead- ing off in the cheers, with music and sun- shine, mirth and gladness, smiles and tears, and prayers and blessings, the young couple were whirled away to the station, bound for the bliss of the honeymoon. But what made that wedding day o re- markable was that it seemed to lead to so many more. There came a letter from Martin to Jack O y only the other day. The latter, being a New York guardsman, was sweltering in his tent at Peekskill, while Mrs. Jack consoled herself by a brief visit to the Leales at West Point. ‘The for- mer, heing a West Pointer, fell back nat- urally into the vernacular of his cadet days and this was somewhat as he wrote: ““Your blessed brother-in-law continues to be the joy of the Twe'fth and the dovecote is every whitas hospitable as Amory’s. But of course, Will and Mrs. Will hayen’t out- lived theirsalad days, and their tilts and make-ups are too funny foranything. Will is just as true a soldier as_ever, but we al- ways know when the ‘wind’s in the east’ at the cote by his hecoming even more ageressively, austerely, self-denyingly military. Just now all is bliss, for dear Lady Farrar, ‘Queen Mother,’ as we learned to call her from your sweet wife—my salu- tations to her ladyship—is, as you know, in the third week of her first visit to ‘the children,” and this, Jack, old boy, brings me to a prediction. In our cadet days we used to say, ‘extras breed extras,’ and 1'm thinking what that wedding day of ‘Will is res nsilgle for. First, there’s you and Miss Ellis—God bless’em—there'sLeale and Mrs. Royle Farrar—God reward ’em! There’s Old - Man - Heap - Mashed -in -the Moon and Miss Lucretia—God help ’em. But do you know, we believe our bully old colonel has the promise now of being made at last just the happiest man in old Fort Frayne.” THE END. Copyright, 1895. The Original Trilby. The fairy tales which the newspapers have been” making public concerning Du once-celebrated cantatrice, Mme. Bishop has recatied some reminiscences of hervisit to Dubuque in 1864. These articles | have also given rise to assertions and con- | tradictions in regard to Mme. Bishop having in any way influenced Du Mau- rier’s conception of Trilby, and also as to her appearance in this city years ago.— Dubuque Herald. Maurier having modeled Trilby from the | Anna | e Artificial rubies now so closely resemble | NEW TO-DAY. BIG VALUES HOSIERY HANDKERCHIERS, We are overstocked in our Hoslery and Handkerchief Departments, and in order to reduce these stocks to manage- able proportions we offer the following lines at such prices as are bound to effect a clear~ ance. JUST LOOK AT THIS, 50 Cent Hosiery for 35 Cents. ‘We offer a special purchase of 1000 dozen LADIES' LISLE THREAD HOSE, in plan Richelleu ribbed and fancy ribbed in black, tan and half and half, At 35¢ per pair, regular price 50 cents, THINK THIS OVER. 250_dozen LADIES' BLACK SILK PLAITE HOSE, spliced heels and toes, regular price R Sale price 50¢ per pair. EXAMINE THIS, 200 dozen LADIES' BLACK SPUN SILK HOSE, Richelien Ribbed, with double heels and toes, never sold less than 81 25 per pa Sale Price, §5¢ per pair KEEP THIS IN MIND. samples, worth 50 5c each. Sale Price Advice to Our Regular Patrons, DON'T MISS THIS SALE, CALL EARLY. See Display of Aba Show Windows. NEWMAN & LEVINSON, 125, 127, 129 and 131 Kearny Street and 209 Sutter Street. WE MUST VACATE OUR PREMISES, OUR LEASE EXPIRING, And we have concluded rather T0 SACRIFICE THANTO NOVE e Bargains in Our "LADIES' AND GENTLEX SHOES e o you to give us-a call at your earliest convenience to be cony that | we are disposing of our brilliant and well | assorted stock at prices never before heard of in this community. DEASY BROS,, 875 Market Street. £F~ WATCH THE BLUE SIONS. ____ () ATENTSY & ¥ 7 Bast Osmanes By DEWEY & CO., the genuine stones that it is difficult for even jewelers to distinguish them. 1 220 Manxar §T., 8. F., Cab TUTUL VLAV VAUV VAV AVVING % f 7 | Millinery LATEST Summer Im- portations from Paris in Hats, Laces, Flowers, FEATHERS, RIBBONS, Ete., Ete. THE LARGEST STOCK EVER DISPLAYED IN THE CITY. 1024 -1028 MARKET ST. MARKET 8T, MANOH—QQQ PP —