The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, August 9, 1903, Page 5

old Mr. Chance went right off and left wvou, that's what. I tell you, what some folks need is breed of chances that'll stand without hitchin'.” Percival braced himself and began on his soup. “Never you mind, Uncle Peter. You re- member what I told you.” “That takes a different man from what e. 1f your pa was alive now—" what are we going to do?” cried t thing you'll do,” sald Uncle promptly, *“you go write a letter beau of yourn, tellin’ him it's all 1 don't want to let him be the one break it because you lost your money, you? You sign his release right this nute.” Yes—you're right, Uncle Peter—I sup- e it must be done—but the poor fellow y cares for me."” f course,” answered the old man. break his heart You do it same!” » thdrew, and presently came back b & note which she despatched to Mau- Peter, b Percival and his mother had continued their dinner, the former shaking his head between the intervals of the old man's lashings, and appearing to hold silent con- se with himself. s was an encouraging sign us that peopls never talk to mphantly. In mo- we are inwardly But observe the holders of imag- ry conversations. They are conquerors to the last one. They administer sting- ing rebukes that leave the adversary w They rise to Alpine heights of wisdom and power, leaving him to der ignobly in the mire of his own They achieve repartee the bril- sce of which dazzles him to contempti- ble sflence. If statistics were at hand we doubtless learn that no man has talked to himself save by w. trating n like superior- the tawdry impotence of all ob- Percival talked to y lived the next five It is a g but imperative awe for his s of adm! He bathed tence. As time he ehafts of Uncle Peter being beck upon him with such deadli- by the time the roast came, as swelling with pity for that 1D resaw ed rst declared that the od sickened him. Prevalled by Mrs. Bines to taste the e was soon eating as those present f late rarely seen him eat. Tain't J ral appetite, though,” he warned them. “It's a kind of a mania 1 go all to pleces, I s'pose.” onsense! We'll have you all right a week,” eald Percival. “Just remem- nat I'm ng to take care of you.” nything he makes up Just g he lays out to do.” ed until late into the night of “lay out” The afternoon press apt to understate the case. account Mau- hat the young Western gared s fa A is room to be He had be- ¥ che’s note of re- fle he was adjusting this er knock came on his the same mald who had Psyche’s note. This time she t he saw to be a cablegram. Mauburn,—now this He tore open the enve! “Male twins bo! La er and & n fauburn felt the rock foundations of anhattan Island to be crumbling to dust. r an hour he sat staring at the mes- sage. He did not talk to himself once. Then he hurriedly dressed, took the note and the cablegram, and sought Mrs, Drel- mer. He found that capable lady gowned for the opera. She received his bit of news with the aplomb of a resourceful com- mander. “Now, don’t go seedy all at once—you've & chance.” “Heang it all, Mrs. Drelmer, I've not. Life isn't worth living—" “Tut, tut! Death isn’t, either!” “But we'd ha been so nicely set up, even without the title, and now Bines, the clumsy ass, has comse this infernal cropper and knocked everything on the heed. I say, you know it's beastly!” “Hush, and let me think!” He peced the floor while his matrimo- nial adviser tapped a white kidded foot on the floor and appeared to read plans of & new battle in & mother-of-pearl paper- knife which she held between the tips of ber fingers. “I bave it—and we'll do 1t quicklyl— Mra. Wybert™ Mauburn's eyes epened widely. “That absurd old Peter Bines has spoken to me of her three times lately. She’s male & lot more money than she had in this same copper deal, and she’d a lot to begin with. 1 wondered why he spoke so entbusiastically of her, and I don’t see now, but—> “Well? “She’ll take you, and you'll be as well set up as you were before. Listen. I met ber last week at the Critchleys. She spoke of baving seen you. I could see she was dead set to make a good marriage. You know she wanted to marry Fred Mibrey, but Horsce and his mother wouldn't hear of it after Avice became engaged to Rulon Shepler. I'm in the Critchleys’ box to-night, and :ongeflt;?d ehe’s to be there. Leave it e. Now i peBhcns t's after nine, s0 run “But, Mrs. Drelmer, there's that poor girl; she cares for me, and I like her lmmely, you know—truly I do—and she’s a 1 where sne says here she couldn’t possibly leave her people now they've come down—even If matters were not otherwise impossible.” ““Well, you see they're not only other- wise impossible, but very wise impossible, ‘What could you do? Go to Montana with them and learn to be an Indian? Don't, for beaven's sake, sentimentalize! Go home and sleep llke a rational creature. Come in by eleven to-morrow. Even with- out the title you'll be a splendid match for Mrs. Wybert, and she must have & tidy lot of millions after this deal.” . Sorely distressed, he walked back to his lodgings on Thirty-second street. Wild, Quixotic notions of sacrifice flooded his mood of dejection. If the worst came he could go West with the family and learn how to do something. And yet—Mrs. Wy- bert. Of course it must be that. The other idea was absurd—too wild for se- rious consideration. He was thirty years old, and there was only one way for an English gentleman to live—even 1f it must bresk the heart of a poor girl who had loved him devotedly and for whom he had felt & steady and genuine affection. He passed a troubled night. Down st the hotel of Peter Bines was an Intimation from Mrs. Wybert herseif, bearing upon this same fortuity. When Uncle Peter reached there at 2 a. m. he found in his box a small scented envelope which he opened with wonder. Two inclosures fell out. One was & clipping from an evening paper announc- ing the birth of twin sons to Lord Cassel- thorpe. The other was the card he had left with Mrs. Wybert on the day of his call; his name on one side, announcing him; on the other the words he had writ- ten: “Sell Consolidated Copper all you can until it goes down to 6. Do this up to the limit of your capital and I will make od enything you lose. ” . re PETER BINES.” He read the note: *“Arlington Hotel—7 “Mr. Peter Bines: “Dear Sir—You funny old man, you. I don’t pretend to understand your game, but you may rely on my secrecy. I am more grateful to you than words can ut- ter—and 1 will always be glad to do any- thing for you. Yours very t “BLANCHE CATHERTON WYBERT. ‘P About that other matter—him you know—vou will see from this notice I cut from the paper that the party won't get any title at all now, so a dead swell New York man is in every way more eligible. In fact. the other party is not to be thought of for one m oment, f: Iam positive you would agree with me He tore the note and the card to fine bits. “It does beat all" he complained later to Bllly Brue. “Put a beggar on horse- back and they begin right away to fuss around because the bridle ain't set with diamonds—g ve ‘em a little and they want ot W ax!" sald Billy Brue, with thy of the experienced. t “That guy that d fied with no me breastpin At 1l t waited in Mrs for the new ! When that etent person sailed in. he saw tempor: defeat written on her brow. His heart sank to its low level of the night before ‘Well, I saw the creature,” 'she began, “and it required no time at all to reach a very definite understanding with her. I had feared it might be rather a delicate matter, talking to her at once u know —and we needed to woman one 1} of money ht have. rriage—really she's the fire she seems to f it is that she's de- ry some one of the smart w York. The creature's idea.” % did, but she’'d read like 0 many of these no use at all for an Eng- ut a title Of course I be too defin her, but she e let me see BSo she's Now, but we'll have to leave t If a chap isn't heir peerage or a city fortune there's no that way.” the man is actually discouraged. Now you need some American pluck, old chap. An American of your age wouldn't give up.” “But, hang it alll! an American knows how to do things, you know, and like as not he'd nothing to begin with, by Jove! Now I'd a lot to begin with, and here it's all taken away.” “Look at young Bines. He's had a lot taken away, but I'll wager he makes it all back again and more too before he's 40.” “He might in this country; he’d never do it at home, you know.” y Is for you as much as , there's Augusta Hartong— i-pickle millionaires, you know. 1 was chatting with Augusta’s mother only the other day, and if I'd only sus- ed this—"" kind of you, Mrs. Drelmer, but it's no use. I'm fairly played out I shall go to see Miss Bines and have a chat with her people, you know.” “Now, for heaven's sake, don’t make a sllly of yourself, whatever you do! Mind, the girl released you of her own accord!” “Awfully obliged. I'll think about it jolly well, first. Bee you soon. Good-Ly!” And Mauburn was cff. He was reproaching himself. *“That poor girl has Leen eating her heart out for a word from me. I'm a brute!” CHAPTER XXXVL THE GOD IN THE MACHINE. Uncle Peter next morning was up to a late breakfast with the stricken family. Percival found him a trifle less bitter, but not less convinced in his despair. The young man himself had recovered his spirits wonderfully. The utter collapse of the old man, always so reliant befure, had served to fire all his latent encrgy. }e was now voluble with plans for the future; not only determined to reassure Uncle Peter that the famil® would be provided for, but not a little anxious to justify the old man's earlier praise and refute his calumnies of the n!ght before. “You're right, Uncle Peter. It certainly wasn't my game. Will you come down with me?” “Me? Bhucks, no! I'm jest a poor, bro- ken old man, now. I'm goin’ down to the square if I can walk that fur, and set on a bench in the sun.” Uncle Peter did succeed in walking as far as Madison Square. He walked, in- deed, with a step of amazing springiness for & man of his years. But there, instead of reposing in the sun, he entered a cab and was driven to the Vandevere bulld- ing, where he sent in his name to Rulon Bhepler. He was ushered into Shepler's office af- ter a little delay. The two men shook hands warmly. Uncle Peter was grinning now with rare enjoyment—he who had in the presence of the family shown naught but broken age and utter despondency. *You rough-housed the boy considerable yesterday.” . “I never believed the fellow would hold on,” said Shepler. “I'm sure you're right in & way about the West. Thers isn’t an- other man in this section who'd have THE SUNDAY CALL. swelled up good and plenty.” “Well, I'm glad it's ove: course, I concede the relative siguuicaiive of money to a young man of his quali- ties—** “Not its relative significance, Mr. Shep- ler—it's plain damned insignificance, If yow'll excuse the word. If that boy'd gone on he'd 'a’ been one of what Blilly Brue calls them high-collared Clarences— no good fur anything but to spend money and get apoplexy or worse by 40. As it is now, he'll be a man. He's got his health turped on like a steam radiator, he's full of responsibility and he's really long- headed.” ““How did he take the loss?"’ “He acted jest like a healthy baby does when you take one toy away from him. He cries a minute, then forgets all about it and grabs up something else to play with. His other toy was bad. What he’s playin’ with now will do him a lot of good.” “He's not discouraged then—he's really hopeful?” hat ain’'t any name fur it. Why, he's actin’ this mornin’ jest like the world's his oyster—and every month had an ‘T’ in it at that.” “I'm delighted to. hear it. I've always been taken with the chap; and I'm really glad you read him correctly. It seemed to me you were taking a risk. It would have broken the spirit of most men.” “Well, you see, I knew the stock. It's pushin’, fightin’ stock. My grandfather fought his way west to Pennsylvania when that country was wilder'n Africa, and my father fought his way to Ohio when that was the frontier. I seen some hard times myself, and this boy's father was a fighter, too. So I knew the boy had it in him, all right. He's got his faults, but they don’t hurt him none.” “WIIl he return West?" “He will that—and the West is the only place fur him. He was gettin' bad notlons about his own country here from them | | EARLY two years ago E. G. Riss- man of this city, familiarly known to his friends as ‘“Doc,” lost a valuable Elk charm in Portland, Or. It slipped off his | watchchain one night when he was walk- ing along the street. Vainly he searched |for it and advertised, offering a large | reward for its return. Then he looked | upon it as gone for ever, and the loss of | the beautiful emblem was almost forgot- | ten until the other day, when he received | it safe and sound from Wilson Benefiel, | superintendent of the Lone Fir Cemetery in Portland. How the charm found its | way back to its proper owner is one of those true tales that stagger credulity. #The charm was the gift of Lodge No. 1T of Elks, whose cool, green pastures are circumscribed by the boundaries of that region known as Denver, Colo. It is com- posed of an elk's tooth set in gold and a magnificent solitaire dlamond blazed forth from the yellow metal, with smaller stones forming a crescent below. On the reverse side is Rissman's name with the number 17 stamped Into the tooth. Three months ago a Chinaman dled in Portland and his remains were Interred well to ease up a little after he’s out there? You might let it be understeod that T am willing to finance any of-those propositions there liberally——"" “No, no—that ain’t the way to handle him. Say, I don’t expect to quit cussin’ him fur another thirty days yet. I want him to think he ain’t got a friend on earth but himself. Why, I'd have made this play just as I have done, Mr. Shep- ler, If there hadn't been a chance to get back a cent of it—if we'd had to go plumb broke—back to the West in an emigrant car, with bologna and ecrackers to eat, that's what I'd have dome. No, sir: no help fur him!"” “‘Aren’t you a little hard on him?" “Not a bit; don't I know the stock, and know just what he needs? Most men you couldn’t treat as I'm treating him: but with him, the harder you bear down on him the more you'll get out of him. That was the way with his pa—he was a different man after things got to com- in’ too easy fur him. This fellow. the way I'm treatin’ him, will keep his head even after he gets things comin' easy agaln, or I miss my guess. He thinks I despise him now. If you told him I was proud of him I almost belleve you could get a bet out of him, sick as he is of gamblin".” ‘‘Has he suspected anything?"’ “Sure not! Why, he just thanked me about an hour ago fur savin’ him—made me shake hands with him—and I could see the tears back in his eyes. The old man chuckled. “It was llke Len Carey's Nigger Jim. Len had Jim set apart on the plantation fur his own nigger. They fished and went huntin’ and swimmin' together. One day they’d been swimmin’ and was lyin’ up on the bank. Len got thinkin' he'd never seen any one drown. He knew Jim couldn’t swim a lick, so he thought he'd have Jim go drown. He says to him, ‘Jim, go jump off that rock there.’ That was where the deep hole was. Jim was scar’t, but he had to go. After he’d gone — e |Lost ElK’s Cha-rm lsfis.tungely | Recovered From Heathen’s Grave in Lone Fir Cemetery. As is the cus- tom among Chinese the personal belong- ings of the dead man were spread upon the grave to be burned. An employe of the cemetery caught among the rubbish the glitter of a diamond and digging into the plle he brought forth a charm, an elk's tooth set with diamonds and the number 17 stamped into the tooth. For eighteen months the dead heathen had kept the bauble he had found in the gutter. He knew nothing of its value, but perhaps he thought it was a talis- man that might bring him good luck. It did eventually; he died. The cemetery employe turned the charm over to Superintendent Benefiel, who be- gan a systematic search for the owner. After ascertalning that Lodge No. 17 was located in Denver, he communicated with the officials there and ascertained the whereabouts of Rissman. After some cor- respondence and a complete identification of the charm it was sent by express to its owner, who was overjoyed to be in possession again of his valued testimo- nial from fellow lodge members. Now he has it anchored to his watchchain with an “Oregon boot.” To the honest em- ploye whose keen eye caught the glint of the bauble among the flames Rissman sent a generous remittance. folks that's always crackin’ up the ‘other side’ ’sif there wa'n'tany ‘this side’ worth speakin’ of in company. This was no place fur him. Mr. Shepler, this whole country s God's country. don't talk much about them things, but I belleve iIn God—a man has to if he lives so much alone In them wild places as 1 have—and I believe tnis country is his favorite. I believe he set it apart fur great works. The history of #he United States bears me out so fur. And I didn't want any of my stoc: growin’ up with- out feelin’ that he had the best native land on earth, and without” bein’ ready to fight fur it at the drop of the hat. And fest between you and me, I believe we can raise that kind in the West bet- ter'n you can here in New York. You got a fine, handsome town here; it's a corkin’ good place to see—and get out of —but it ain’t any breedin’ place—there ain't the room to grow. Now we produce everything in the West, includin’ men. Here you don’t do anything but consume, includin’ men. If the West stopped pro- ducin’ men fur you you'd be as bad off as If it stopped producin’ food. You can’t grow a big man on this island any more than you can grow wheat out there on Broadway. You're all right. You folks have your uses. I ain’t like one of these crazy Populists that thinks you're rascals and all like that: but my point is that you don't get the fun out of life. You don’t get the big feelin's. Out in the plunged as he did. Really, Mr. Bines, the West they’re the flesh and blood and Street's never known anything like it. bone; and you people here, meanin’ no Here are those matters.” disrespect—you’re the dimples and wrin- He handed the old man a dozen or so kles and—the warts. You spend and gam- certified checks on a&s many different ble back and forth with that money we banks. Each check had many figures on raise and dig out of the ground, and it Uncle Peter placed them in his old you think you're gettin’ the best end of leather wallet. it, but you ain’t. I found that out thirty- “I knew he'd plunge,” he sald, taking two years ago this spring. I had a crazy the chalir proffered him, near Shepler's fool notion then to go back there even desk. “I knew he was a natural born when I hadn't gone broke—and I done plunger, and I knew that once he gets an well to go. And that's why I wanted idea in his head you can't blast it out; that bov back there. And that's why makes no difference what he starts on I'm mighty proud of him, to see he's so he’ll play the string out. His pa was jest hot to go and take hold, like I knew he that way. Then, of course, he wasn't would be.” used to money and he was ignorant of “That's excellent. Now, Mr. Bines, I this game, and he dldn’t realize what he Ilike him and I dare say you've done the was doing. He sort of distrusted himself best thing for him, unusual as it was. along toward the last—but I kept him But don't grind him. Might it not be down once Len says to him, ‘Drown now, you damn nigger!’ and Jim come up and went down twice more. Then Len begun to think Jim was worth a good bit of money, and mebbe he'd be almighty wal- loped if the truth come out, so he dives in after Jim and gets him to shore, and after while he brought him to. Anyway, he sald Jim had already sure-enough drowned as fur as there was any fun in it. Well, Len Carey is an old man now, and Jim is an old white-headed nigger still hangin’ around the old place, and when Len goes back there to visit his relatives old Nigger Jim hunts him up with tears In his eyes and thanks Mister Leonard fur savin’ his ‘life that time. Say, I felt this mornin’ like Len Carey must fe$l them times when Jim's thank- ih’ him.” Shepler laughed. “You're a rare man, Mr. Bines. I'll hope to have your cheerful, easy views of life if T ever lose my hold here in the Street. 1 hope I'll have the old Bines philosophy and the young Bines spirit. That reminds me,” he continued as Uncle Peter rose to g0, “we've been pretty confidential, Mr. Bines, and I don’t mind telling you I was a bit afraid of that young man until yes- terday. Oh, not on the stock proposition. On another matter. You may have no- ticed that night at the Oldakers'—well, women, Mr. Bines, are uncertain. I know something about markets and the ways of a dollar, but all I know about women is that they're good to have. You can't know any more about them, because they don't know any more themselves. Just between us, now, I never felt any too sure of a certain young woman's state of mind untfl copper reached 51 and Union Cord- age had been blown up from inside.” They parted with warm expressions of good will, and Uncle Peter, in high spirits at the success of his machinations, had himself driven up town. The only point where his plans had failed was In Mrs. Wybert's refusal to consider Mauburn after the birth of the Cassel- thorpe twins. Yet he felt that matters, in spite of this happening, must go as he Wwished them to. The Englishman—Uncle Peter cherished the strong anti-British sentiment pecullar to his generation— ‘would surely never marry a girl who was all but penniless, and the consideration of an alliance with Mrs. Wybert, when the fortunte should be lost, had, after all, been an inecident—a means of showing the glrl, if she should prove to be too deeply infatuated with Mauburn for her own peace of mind—how unworthy and mer- cenary he was; for he had meant, in that event, to disillusion her by disclosing something of Mrs, Wybert's history—the woman Mauburn should prefer to her. He still counted confidently on the loss of the fortune sufficing to break the match. When he reached the Hightower that night for dinner, he found Percival down- stalrs in great glee over what he con- celved to be a funny situation. “Don’t ask me, Uncle Peter. I couldn’t get it stralght; but as near I could make out, Mauburn came up here afraid the blow of losing him was going to kill sis with a broken heart, and sis was atraid the blow was going to kill Mau- burn, because she wouldn't have married him anyway, rich or poor, after he'd lost the title. They found each other out some way and then Mauburn accused her of being heartless, of caring only for his title, and she accused him of caring only for her money, and he insisted she ought to marry him anyway, but she wouldn't have it because of the twins—" Uncle Peter rubbed his big brown hands with the first signs of cheerfulness he had permitted Percival to detect in him. “Good fur Pish—that's the way to take down them conceited Britishers—" “But then they went at matters again from a new standpoint and the result is they’'ve made it up.” “What? Has them preclous twin Cas- selthorpes perished? “Not at all, both doing finely—haven't even had collo—growing fast—probably learned to say ‘fancy, now,” by this time. But Mauburn's going West with us if we'll take him."” “Get out!" “Fact! Eay, it must have been an aw- ful blow to him when he found sis wouldn’t think of him at all without his title, even if she was broke. They had a stormy time of it from all I can hear. He sald he was strong enough to work and all that, and since he’d cared for her and not for her money it was low down of her to throw him over; then she sald she wouldn’'t leave her mother and us, now that we might need her, not for him or any other man—and he sald that only made him love her all the more, and then he got chesty and sald he was just as good as any American, even if he never would have a title; so pretty soon they got kind of interested in each other again and by the time I came home it was all over. They ratifled the preliminary agree- , I “That's right, go ahead and snum. I'd snum myself if I knew how—it knocked Better come upstairs and congrat- ulate the happy couple. “Shoo, now! I certainly am mighty dtsappointed in that fellow. Still he is weil spotted, and them freckles mean fron in the blood. Maybe we can develop him along with the other properties.” They found Psyche already radiant, though showing about her eyes traces of the storm’s devastations. Mauburn was looking happy; also deflant and stub- born. “Mr. Bines,” he sald to Uncle Peter, “I hope you'll side with me. I anow some- thing about horses, and I've nearly a thousand pounds that I'll be glad to put in with you out there if you can make a place for me."” The old man looked him over quizzical- ly. Psyche put her arm through Mau- burn's. “I'd have to marry some ome, you know, Uncle Peter!"” “Don’t apologize, Pish. There's room for men that can work out there, Mr. Mauburn, but there ain't any vintages or trouserings to speak of, and the hours is long.” . “Try me, Mr. Bines!"” “Well, come on! If yot can’t skin your- self you can hold a leg while somebody else skins. But you ain't met my ex- pectations, T'll say that.”” And he shook hands cordlally with the Englishman. “I say, you know,” said Mauburn later to Psyche, “why should I skin myseif? Why should I be skinned at all, you know?"” ‘““You shouldn’t,”” she reassured him. “That's only Uncle Peter’s way of saying you can help the others, even if you can't do much yourself at first. And won't Mrs. Drelmer be delighted to know it's all settled?” ““Well,” sald Uncle Peter to Percival later in the evening, “Pish has done bet- ter than you have here. It's a pity you didn’t plck out some good sensible girl and marry her in the midst of your other doings.” “I couldn’t find one that licked cats. I saw a lot that sulted every other way, but T always said to myself, ‘Remember Uncle Peter's warning!’ so I'd go to an animal store and get a basket of kittens and take them around, and not one of the dozen stood your test. Of course, I'd — never disregard your advice.” “Hum,” remarked Untle Peter, in a tone to be noticed for its extreme dry- ness. “Too bad, though—you certainly need a wife to take the conceit out of you.” “I lost in the Street, along with the rest.” “Well, son, T ain’t no ways alarmed but what you'll soon be on your feet again in that respect—say by next Tues- day or Wednesday. I wish the money was comin’ back as easy.” “‘Well, there are girls in Montana City.” “You could no worse. That reminds me —I happened to meet Shepler to-day and he got kind of confidential—talkin’ over matters. He said he'd never really felt sure about the affections of a cer- taln young woman, especially after that night at the Oldakers'—he'd never felt sure of her untll you went broke. He sald you never could know anything about a woman—not really.” ‘“He knows something about that one, all right, if he knows she wouldn't have any use for me now. Shepler’s coming on with the ladies. I feel quite hopeful about him.” CHAPTER XXXVIL The Bineses, with the exception of Psyche, were at breakfast a week later. Miss Bines had been missing since the day that Mr. and Mrs. Cecil G. H. Mau- burn had left for Montana City to put the Bines home in order. Uncle Peter and Mrs. Bines had now determined to go, leaving Percival to fol- low when he had closed his business af- fairs. “It's like starting West again to make our fortune,” sald Uncle Peter.. He had suffered himself to regaain something of his old cheerfulness of manner. “I wish you two would walit until they can get the car here, and go back with me,” said Percival. ‘““We can go back in style even If we didn’t save much more than a getaway stake.” But his persuasions were unavailing. “I can't stand it another day.,” sald Mrs. Bines, “and those letters keep com- ing in from poor suffering people that haven’t heard the news.” “I'm too restless to stay,” declared Un- cle Peter. *I declare, with spring all greenin’ up this way I'd be found camp- in' up in Central Park some night and took off right to the calaboose. I just got to get out again where you can feel the wind blow and see a hundred mlles and don’t have to dodge horseless horse cars every minute. It's a wonder one of ‘em ain’t got me in this town. You come on in the car, and do the style fur the fam- ily. One of them common Pullmans is good enough fur Marthy and me. And besides, I got to get Billy Brue back. He's goin' plumb daft lookin' night and day fur that man that -got his thirty dollars and his breastpin. i.e says there’ll be an ambulance backed up at the spot where he meets him—makes no difference it it's right on Fifth avenue. Billy’s kind of near-sighted at that, so I'm mortal afrald he’ll make a mistake one of these nights and take some, honest man's money and trinkets away from him.” Percival saw them to the train. “Take care of yourself,” saild Uncle Peter at parting. “You know I ain’t any good any more, and you got a whole fam- ily, Includin’ an Englishman, dependin’ on you—we'll throw him on the town, though, if he don’t take out his first papers the minute I get there.”” His last shot from the rear platform was: “Change your name back to ‘Pete,” son, when you get west of Chicago. 'Taint anything fancy, but it's a crackin’ good business name fur a hustler!” “All right, Uncle Peter—and I hope T'll have a grandson t thinks as much of it as I ,do of yours, When they had gone he went back to the work of final adjustment. He had the help of Coplin, whom they had sent for. With him he was busy for a week. By lucky sales of some of the securities that had been hypothecated they managed to save a little; but, on the whole, it was what Percival described it, lovely au- topsy.” At last the vexatlous work was finished, and he was free again. At the end of the final day’s work he left the office of Fouts in Wall street and walked up Broadway. He went slowly, enjoying the freedom from care. It was the afternoon of a day when the first summer heat had been felt, and as he loitered before shop windows or walked slowly through that street whers all move quickly and most very hurried- ly, a welcome little breeze came up. At Union Square, when he would have taken a car to go the remainder of the distance, he saw Shepler, accompanied by Mrs. Van Geist and Miss Milbrey, alight from a victoria and enter a jew- eler’s. He would have passed on, but Miss Milbrey had seen him, and stood waiting in the doorway while Shepler and Mrs, Van Geist went on Into the store. “Mr. Bines—I'm so glad!" She stood, flushed with pleasure, radl- ant in stuff of flmy pink, with little flecks at her throat and waist of the first tender green of new leaves. She was unaffectedly delighted to see him. “You are Miss Spring?” he saild when she had given him her hand, “and you've come into all your mother had that was worth Inheriting, haven't you?" *“Mr. Bines, shall we not see you now? I wanted so much to talk with you when I heard everything. Would it be imperti- nent to say I sympathized with you?” He looked over her shoulder, in where Shepler and Mrs. Van Geist were inspect- ing a tray of jewels. *“Of course not impertinent—very kind— only I'm really not in need of any sym- pathy at all. You won't understand it; but we don't care so much for money in the West—for the loss of it—not so much as you New Yorkers would. Besides we can always make a plenty more.” The situation was, emphatically, not as he had so often dreamed it when she should marvel, perhaps regretfully, over his superiority to her husband as a mon- ey-maker. His only rellef was to belittle the importance of his loss. “Of course we've lost everything, al- most—but I've not been a bit downcast about it. There’s more where it came from, and no end of fun going after it I'm looking forward to the adventures, I can tell you. And every one will be glad to see me there; they won't think the less of me, I assure you, because I've made a fluke here!” “Surely, Mr. Bines, no one here could think less of you. Indeed, I think more of you. I think it's fine and big to go back with such courage. Do you know, I wish I were a man—I'd show them!” “Really, Miss Milbrey—" . He looked over her shoulder again and saw that Shepler was waiting for her. “I think your friends are impatient.” “They can wait. Mr. Bines, I wonder it you have quite a correct idea of all New York people?” “Probably not; I've met so few, know " “Well, of course—but of those you've met? % ou can't know what my ideas are.” “I wish we might have talked more— I'm sure—when are you leaving?” *“I shall leave to-morrow.” “And we're leaving for the ocountry ourselves. Papa and mamma go to-mor- row—and, Mr. Bines, I should have liked another talk with you—I wish we were dining at the Oldakers’ again.” He observed Shepler strolling toward you them. “I shall be staying with Aunt Cornella & few days after to-morrow.” Shepler came up. leaving to-morrow, “And I shall be Miss Milbrey.” “Ah, Bines, glad to see you!" The accepted lover looked Miss Milbrey over with rather a complacent air—with the unruffled confidence of assured pos- session. Percival fancled thers was a look almost of regret in the girl's eyes.. “I'm afrald,” sald Shepler, “your sunt doesn’t want to be kept walting. And she's already in a fever for fear you won't prefer the necklace she insists you ought to prefer.” “Tell Aunt Cornelia, please, that I shall be along in just & moment.” “She’ quite impatient, urged Shepler, Percival extended his hand. “Good-by, Miss Miibrey. Don't let me detain you. Sorry I shall not sees you again.” She gave him her hand uncertainly, as if she had still something to say, but could find no words for it. Good-by, Mr. Bines. “Good-by, young man,” Shepler shook hands with him cordially, “and the best of luck to you out there. I shall hope to hear good reports from you. And mind, you're to look us up when you're in town again. We shall always be glad to see you. Good-by." Percival smiled as he resumed his walk —smiled with all that bitter cynicism which only youth may feel to its full poignance. Yet, heartless as she was, he recalled that while she talked to him he had imprinted an imaginary kiss delib- erately upon her full scarlet lips. And now, too, he was forced to confess that, in spite of his very uncertaln knowledge about her, he would actually prefer to have communicated it through the recog- nized physical media. He laughed again, more cheerfully. “The spring has got a strangle-hold on my judgment,” he sald to himself. Concluded Next Week. < MU you know,”