The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, December 11, 1904, Page 7

lav but §if mar Jle there never for the need ne only real occupation is the one that makes the Understand, now, I t anybogdy’s callin’, my opin r what o that had swopped laint, nder a child couid drive him out 1, we was d be- and s goin’ to die. I told k a horse that d give him my he had the worst of would have eve > the sot . got hired a liar and com- and Iw a =t man away th in the uch a scorin’ in rry for my wife and chii- I didn’'t think that anybody vould ever speak to me again, and I told the lawyer that I would make it een me and him. ce to decide dead didn’t. He had my against @ SOSSOGIE SRS SSISONGSSNSE WHEN STANTON By Leonard Adams HE butler returned with Stan- ton’s card and the impassive an- nouncement: “Miss Carver's not in, sir.” ton smiled griml ery well, Howes,” he said, calmly picking up a magazine and settling back comfortably. “TI'll wait until Miss Carver is in. And, by the w Howes, 1 as the butler turned to go ']l favor me by conveying that bit jon to Miss Carver at He fished in his pocket and drew out a half dollar, which he flipped to the butler with a meaning nod, and Howes departed, the ghost of 2 grin showing at the corners of His mouth. DOSOSLSSOE0ENSR A fire burned on the broad hearth, end as the stairs creaked beneath the portly Howes, Stanton piled on wood and worked the b until he had a smali-sized conflagration roaring He was just hanging up the when the portieres were sked angrily aside, and Katherine Carver stood before him, a spot of red ng on either cheek and hard lines ng about her pretty mouth. ello!” said Stanton cheerfully. - Ick early, aren’t you? Glad I wait- “Well?” she sald shortly, coming a step nearer and giving an unpleasant inflection to the word. “Very well, thank you,” said Stanton imperturbably. “And you?” Miss Carver glared at him. “Won't you sit down by my fire?” he went on politely. “I had no end of trouble to get it going.” (R A { il M"'\I’ Ewt;]ullm-_ | > e L LT OE STCHL L7 [ ““What have you come for?” she ask- ed frigidly. Stanton looked thoughtfully into the fire for a mBment. “I didn't come to rob the house,” sald he, “nor to commit murder. I think I must have come to apologize.” “It is too late,” said she. “Then I'll come earlier to-morrow,” he returned. “Mayv I ask what time the receipt of apologies ceases?” “It ceased last evening at 10—and it ceased forever,” said Miss Carver. “Oh, I say!” Stanton protested, ‘“‘real- 1y, that's not fair.” “It's quite as fair as your remarks of last evening,” she replied. “Honestly, I'm sorry,” said Stanton. “I was beside myself.” “So it would seem,” she observed tartly. “And when I called you a heartless fiirt and the rest of it I was irrespon- . sible,” said he. “I take it all back ex- cept—" He paused. “Except what?” she asked. “Well, I'll take it all back—no ex- ;:epdonz. it you say so,” he said meek- y. “‘Oh, it doesn't matter!” she mused indifferently. “No, I suppose not,” he sald. “Still, I'm really sorry. Won't you sit down by the fire and hear my side of it?" Miss Carver hesitated. “Won't you?" he pleaded. She came to the fire and took the chair he had drawn up for her. “Proceed,” she said, still practicing an economy of words. “Katherine,” he sald slowly, *“you know how devout a worshiper I've been; you know how patiently I've waited and what—er—what encour- agement you've given me. Well, yes- Z ) THFT N O T been a horse trader him Well, after the thing I took the horse I got and went over to his us: miles away and®turned the in his lot. I did it nét becau sorry for him, but because I was of mvself—afraid that I couldn’t and 1 was workin’ hard and neede rest. Well, sir, that night the nag th: I'd turned into the lot ups and dies. and the fellow swore that i had hauled him there after he was dead, and banged if he didn't sue me again. He got the same lawrer and he made me out a worse man than I was before. Made it appear that I had poisoned the horse and dragged him over there Then I swore that the whole o couldn’t hold me back from tak out of hi hide. Wife, cried a took on, but I told her it wasn't no use for justice spurred me on. So the first chance I got T see the lawyer. thcuse and he v speech, and ¥ wish I ma the feller he was skinnin’ wan't the very man that hac I never heard anythin’ like it and called him a orts of a scour said that he had defrauded me, as hon- est a man as lived in the State. I couldn’t stand that, so I w out and after a while.he car and held out his hand and ca 1 e Lim,” just as if I was his moth- er's brother. Then he clapped me on the shoulder and you could hawe heard him laugh® more than a mile. He said he was comin’ out te go fishin’ With me. “Well, I let him cff, and after we had got to be right good friends I asked him how he ha-nened to be engaged against my enemy and this is what he said: ‘Oh, [ wasn’t. Some of the boys told me you were comin’ imto the house and. I knew that you were trou- blegome when you set your head to S0 as court wasn't in s fon 1 start in to makin' a speech against the f low so you could hear clapred me on the shoul 3 you could have heard him laugh more than two miles this time. “Get a lawyer with fun in him and he's all right. Once I had some busi- ness on hand, the settlement of my brother’s estate, and I went to old Tom Cantrell and asked him how much he would charge me, and he almost took my breath with the amount he named. I knew he was a man of a good deal of ability—liked fun—and I says to him like this: ‘Tell you what arrangement to make, Colonel. Ive got g mighty went to 3 4 ."4![ o . that candles thing. as long rt )st part and is nearly always w to forgive you when he has dome you e wrong, and I want to remark right here that this argues the extr mest of liberality.” (Copyright, 1304, by Ople Read) APOLOGIZED terday when I heard of your engage- ment to Cawthorne—" “To whom?” she gasped, suddenly attentive. “To Cawthorne,” he repeated. heard it at the club. Miss Carver suddenly burst out laughing. She covered her face with her hands and went into convulsions of merriment. Stanton stared help- lessly. “I wish I might see it in that hu- morous vein,” he said, gloomily. “Do you mean to tell me that the announcement of Mr. Cawthorne’s engagement was responsible for your outburst last night?” she asked be- tween hysteric giggles. “Yes,” he said. “I was angry then; but to-day I've come to offer apolo- gies and to add my congratulations. He has a mint of money, I hear.” “I “Oh,” she gasped, convulsed in laughter again, “it's too funny! Mr. Cawthorne 1s engaged to Miss Cynthia Carver—Aunt Cynthia. It's the cul- mination of a romance that began be- fore I was bern.” “Oh, Lord,” sald Stanton softly, but in tones of infinite relief. He picked up his hat and ecoat. At the door he turned. “Not going?” she asked. “Yes, I'm going to the club to an- . nounce your engagememn§ to me,” he said with an air of finality. “I haven’t given my consent,” said with reddened face. Stanton chuckled. “Well, in response to your urgent invitation, I'm coming back to dine with the family, and T'll get it then said he. (Copyright, 1904, by T. C. McClure.) she