The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, February 11, 1906, Page 14

THE SAN FRANCISCO SUNDAY CALL. s coming down thought fond place, ter ar always you were tight m good-humor- “But there's that we gust of she w - K blows break tely W Kitche g w hS to put uy and- was the O e BY HELENA SMITH DAYTON. kes two to make a quarrel, e're the two,” Mary Gale de- se you make mountains es) dear,” Carlyle erior tone you have discovered In reeable person I am.” But let me assure you r engagement my diary tory of a South Ameri- fiashed that reads n republic.’ Frequent m Mary decl andings result in 1o step into the frail craft instead an d five year Mary’s honor upon no one she wel- and select! lner, remaining abro: & receptior eturn, the her comed more graciously than Carlyle. Hers was was disarming cordiall “It's good to see you again’ repeated between lzughs, for Ma: periences were breezy. “And it's good to see you,” she echoed. “A wise' woman doesn’t lose her best friend by marrying him!’ he reproved, “Paris has made Also,- very wonaerful and He glanced at her tri- piring.” ant toliet. “No—only extravagant,” she corrected. by, you should see the shops!. The r Mttle—" “I'm not interested in the Paris shops,” satd rely. “I want to tell you he how foolish we were to let a few feathers the imagination part us “They were firm facts, of sald Mary (=) Cousin S NN NN N RN S 00000 RSB0 under tne e. Both he ailors; indeed, Ger- to tk gned ed to drop Curtis,” he from Kk here severely, My wval en nd this is th late of H Armitag Fre M. S ladame , and I'm the Your healtt to his lips and nodded wome 1 the m of officers on B ne always re- 1 through the holidays owhere else to go to.” and his elec- irested itself. a couple of The noll, The gi s means, rveyed Armi lained, as the heterogeneous heap that 1 the G Curtis s we can't go a yard tar- 1 was on my way to General place, at Hurstiees. The gen- erzl is my uncle most of these P Is contain presents for my young be too Jate to are chil- rasped the humor of uation and went in quest of the the it- z School. within half Armi presentable Miss Fane. tered I certainl Wh I w »m Miss Far and he discove 1 his wife ory. This and they w like old friend his thought am in a dread nt down to was waitin d that both cur- minutely detailed ved further explana- soon hing and disappoi she said , it is a delightful ent before his ardent gaze it what a fine big fellow he osed to talk better begin I shall be pb! when re are adjudicate upon to bed. Tt bonbons and ¢ things that ladies sister made the co one cousin: Mabel the « laughed s, and Bertha Wild pils of mine, and I am sure that heard them speak of you, Mr. Armitage. coldly. *I diar: have them all down in my fary! Doesn’t your diary bring back delightful memories? All mine are charming.” g “Your memory must be of the eliminat- Ing variety—like that of the surviving relatives of wicked persons. John's wid- ow thinks of his nice eyes and forgets he ever brought them home blackened!” she retorted, “Those were my h: sisted Carlyle. “Can't back again?”’ “To vrove our decision of five years ago was a wise one?’ sniffed Mary. “I'd be ¥1lling to try it,” he dared her. “Very well,” asserted Mary. “Like veterans around a stove, we'll refight the battles of the glorious past.” The plan was made to go from place to place in Carlyle's motor and visit the scenes of old quarrels. “Where first?’ asked Carlyle as they were speeding down the avenue the next an, fest da: per- we bring them morning in his car. “Have you your guide book?” Mary promptly drew forth a red diary. untry Club, e directed. “The quarrel?” he smiled when they were seated in comfortable chairs on the piazza. ‘Because I was pleasant to Bertie Hil- she blushed, “to punish you for g late.” Unreasonable of you to be angry be- cause I s late, Mary. In those day business kept me tied down.” “You were always late,” defended Mary. “I spent most of my time waiting for you. B N e A lice’s Timely Letter (=)+ “She knows ‘all agely. 15 for years,” ared her, “and v obeying command from the general when this fortunate accident befell me.” usion of his own room Ger- e took a letter from his pock- and appeared to be much per- turbed while reading it. He flung it upon the table, snatched it up nd rea; Gerald—I must instst that a little more attention; in- to see you married . You have both, L reached the a should imagine, age of dis- cretion. 1 wish you to spend Christmas with us, when this matter can be finally settled. Alice is most anxious, too, and is writing. Your affectionate uncle, ““George Wild.” obeyed willingly enough,’ rmitage ‘up to a certain point. 1 can- y Alice Wild since 1 have seen did I drift into that 1 had no belief in o re no Miss F idictic engagemen love until now!” A merry party assembled at the bre st table, and later Miss Fane dressed for church. To Armit E seemed absolutely perfect, attired in & plain black dress. and a jacket trimmed with cheap fur. She wore a bunch of red berries at ber throat, and there was a bit color in her hat. At le; =0} “There's Bertle mnow,” sald Carl “But we won't quarrel zbout him any more—he’s married.” “There are,” admitted Mary, faults than being late.” “I'm not so busy now—so you see our quarrels haven't stgod the test of time,” hinted Carlyle. “It takes more than two guarrels to break an engagement,” said Mary, fiip- ping the pages of her diary. “Our next one occurred beneath the tree near the fourth green.”” There was something business-like in her manner as sne led the way across the links. “Like old times,” tommented Carlyle. “I haven't arrived at an age to enjoy living in the past,” said Mary ctigply. “The present is good enough,” agreed “worse Carlgle, as they sat down on a rustic bench. “I'm glad you are willing to bury the past.” “1 meant nothing of the kind,” stormed Mary. “We will now take up the quarrel that marks this spot.”” . “Why, this is where I told you I loved you!” declared Carlyle. ‘“Let me see that book.” He extended his hand but Mary shook her head. “You can't!” she sald. “Little girl, don’t you suppose I remem- ber distinctly what happened here? In- stead}:f reviving old quarrels let's start all over again beneath this dear old tree.” Carlyle’s voice was compelling. Mary’s face was averted as she an- swered. ‘“There would be new quarrels—I make mountains of golf tees!" “I'll agree to ‘be compatible to all your incompatibilities,”” he smiled, *“I love Mary when she's contrary.” ““You think you do—but you don't,”” she quoted. Then with a scream of terror she jumped on the bench, for coming that was all that he could make of it. Her dark eves were dancing with heaith, pleasure and mischief as she held out her hand to him, saying: “You arc 3 on to Hur: 'S suppose, Mr. Armitage? We mi meet again, and you bave been so He tuok the hand and pre d it seemed to give him an electric > road to Brightdale is the only one Miss I should i accompany you to church. 1 must a telegram to the gene: My motor won't be u: am going to unless you b natter of indifference to me, What nonsense you do he foliowed. Ik with you?” and he said, I can't he “I baven't sen when the serv it seems t my wire yet,’ ce was over. G N D D 0 Do B DN NSO DRE B, (AR ORIRE: Mary--=-The Contrary 13 cow. tor she bovines. no distinctions i % with a solemn Mary,” said Carlyle air, “wd are in peril. Here, that red bock would divert him.” Before Mary could protest, her diary was thrown as a hostage to the enemy. Carlyle foliowed her as she fled toward the clubhouse. “We might have been killed!” gasped Mary, sinking into a cl Carlyle concealed with difficulty his clation at tie fate of the volume which kept his injuries fresh in Mary's mind. ting thought struck him. s dlary was found? he said, “I'll go and find Some one may réad it.” " cried Mary excitedly. “You mustn't Unheeding he moved off. “Bobby! For my sake—dont go." There was consternation in her face. “Why, little girl,” he exclaimed joy- fully. ““There’'s no danger. The crea- ture hag gone by this time.” At thls time a young man in white flannels came up. “Pardon me—but does this book be- long to either of you? It's brand new and had no name in it—but I thought—" “Yes—it's mine, Ahank you,” she in- terrupted. “A—new diary?” queried Carlyle astonished. “Yes. I burned the old one—four years ago.” “Then why did you pretend”—began Carlyle, “I wanted an excuse to visit our tree without sceming too sentimental.” she confessed boldly. “You may thirk what you like of me.” “I think you are adorable,”” declared Carlyle. “I'm glad T bought that diary,” sighed Mary happily. “It will be so nice to Keep golf scores in. But.” as an after- thought, “we'll let the old scores go!™ (Copyright, 1906, by K. A. Whitghead.) Fane directed him to a telegfapu and waited in the church porch he dispatchéd the message. When he came back she was talKing to two girls and a' tall, falr young man. The young fellow was named Harry Infield, and the girls were his sisters. orning Alee Fraser gravely in- is master that there was no fur- for staying at the Grange. auled the automobile, and was blocked the other out of the question, Alec. We et the general on boxing day. until to-morrow party was not a suece Poth the wcather and the ice were did, but Armitage found no pleasure in the exclusive society of the Infleld girls, pretfy and charming as they were. Their brother was professing teach Miss Fa 'me sort of grotesque figure-skat- ing, and in the end succeeded in hurting her ankle. She had to be taken back to the Grange in a cab, and there was gen- Quite to CRRSSSREEIGES, DOCRWAY oW 2 Pie Crus B N N R P e A N N P P N P N P P N N N e e P P e s e 7 YONDER. ~— eral confusion and dismay. Armitage had spoken sharply to Harry Infield, and the latter demanded to know by what right he Interfered. When he answered, “Every right,” the young fellow's face became almost livid and he responded savagely, “We shall see about that!" This passage at arms was overheard by Miss Fane, and while her face reddened a look of distress crept into her dark eyes. In the evening she was helped down- stairs to a couch in the sitting-room, and Armitage arranged her pillows and drew the couch nearer to the fire. “Now, what shall I do to amuse you?" he said. “I can play the violin; and sing after a*"fashion. Most sallors can sing. you know.” “I would rather be quiet, thank you, Mr. Armitage.” “Would you rather be alone?”’ he asked quickly. “Yes, I would rather be alone.” ‘“But this must be my last evening here. I can make no more excuses.” He spoke almost despairingly. “You oughtn’'t to have made any at all. You are not acting as an English gentleman should.” “Good Heavens! What do you mean, Fane?" he cried. “I am only a girl, but I can understand. You are beginning care for me in a way, and you are trying to make me care for you. I have heard that it is a com- mon form of amusement among sailors. But I consider it cowardly in the ex- treme!™ She spoke with spirit, tears of anger and mortification M but there wers in her or a moment Armitage was dum- : then he kneit at her feet. ase ge away,” she pleaded, “or I ‘shall break down. What would Madame Bell say if she knew of your conduct and of mine? And she is sure to hear some- thing about it. ‘The matron has told me not half an hour since that I am not act- ing digcreetly.” “Mi: Fane- see that I am Armitage said. Lesley—darling, can't you love with you?" e known you just hes He ON'T talk to me!" wailed the girl artist, wiping a daub of green paint off the side of her nose with a clean cor- “Don’t even look at I'm a fallure—a 13 ner of her apron. me! I can’t bear it! rank, miserable * “Tut, tut,” interrupted the sympa- thetic friend, ‘carefully testing the strength of a tabourette before sitting down on it; “Why this sudden depres- sion?” “It isn't a matter of depression; it's a matter of impression,” corrected the girl artist, pulling a screen in front of her last night's supper table. “What do you think of an impressionist who cannot make an impression?”’ and she faced her sympathetic friend with a oW - can - you - answer - that glance which froze him to the tabourette. “But I thought you had, you know; your paintings—" “It isn’t my painting; it's my pies,” was the astonishing rejoinder, “and if I've made an impression it's the very worst possible one 1 could make. Listen and you shall hear. You remember how well my two subjects were hung at the exhibition last week? Well, I had worked over those things for six months and my whole future depended on them. = “Perhaps you heard that a certain millionaire was seen admiring them. Well, he did more than that. He of- fered to buy them and even went so far as to make an appointment to call and see me about the prices and to look at more of my work. You don't know what that means to an artist who has been living on tea and hope with an occasional bologna sausage for two solid years. The very thought of what might, result from that call from a real live millionaire made me choky In the throat and shivery all over. I had even planned to pay my three months’ back rent and had picked out a nice new stylish studio on the strength of it. I gbt to feellng so merry and wealthy over it that I decided to have a real dinner with my last spare change. I went straight out and bought a steak and a bottle of wine and a beautiful custard ple, one of the thick creamy you know, with white flufty dubs all over the top of it and a crust like snowilakes. I was madly reckless. Thus does success turn the youthful head. “When I was ready to receive my millionaire and had lighted a fire in the grate that doesn't work, and hid- den. everything hideable under the bed, /I put the pie out on the window sill and drew the inside curtains so that you never could have seen it without staring impolitely. “Of course, I was horribly nervous and SR000009) two days, and yet you are dearer to me than anything else in tue wide world.” She covered her eves with her hands. “]1 cannot—I will net listen. How dare you say such things—you, an engaged man! I did not know it until this morn- ing. Harry Infield toid me—his sisters are friendly with Miss Alice Wild, to whom you have been engaged for years." She turned upen him wrathfully. “Now, the best thing that you can do Is to go. Surely you should be satisfed with the ruin you have wrought!" Gerald Armitagé was staggered. He paced to and fro, his arms folded across hia chest. 1 could thrash that young Infleld pup- py.” he thought. “And yet he may have Delteved himself justified in exposing me.”" He came to a halt again, and sald de- terminedly: “Phe engagement was none of my making, Miss Fane, and you may understand how much I care for Alice Wild wken I assure you that I haven't seen her for three years. I hardly know how the affair came about. It was, 1 think, suggested by the general to my mater as being a good idea, and I offered no opposition. Until now all women wers pretty much altke to me. There was a short silence. “Are you aware that you are intruding in this house—that you are presuming upon the absence of its mistress, and Insulting me?” the girl sald, tearfully. “I'm doing nothing of the kind, Lesley, Be retorted. “I love you—I worship you. and want you to be my wife. To-morrow I ‘will explain the situation to my uncle and cousin; and {n any event I cannot marry Alice now.” “Miss Wild has a voice in the matter. Man-like you utterly ignore that Your coolness is blood-curling. You would throw off the lady who has been sngaged to you for years just to suit the fancy of & moment! How do you know that she is not as fond of you as—" “As.you are,” he supplemented. “I said nothing of the kind; i fact, I doubt you very much now.” “You appear to belleve every evil thing of me imaginable. Young Infleld has bdeen potsoning your mind against me because be fancies himself in love with you." Miss Fane's face grew hot again. “That overgrown boy!” she exclaimed, scornfully; whereat Armitage laughed, albeit he felt rather dismal “Well,” he sald at last, “I will say good-night, and I promise not to speak to you again until I can do so as a free man. My conduct does look bad from the point of view of one who doesn't know the real facts. And when I come back, Lesley—you don’'t mind me calling you Lesley, do you?” “You seem to do as you please without asking any permission!” “And when I come back, will you de & little kinder to me?” he persisted. “Perhaps!” Armitage gazed at her rapturously for a spell, and was just turning away when there came a thunderous knocking on th door, and he he e bellowing voic of General W He had negotiated many difficult prob , and he had been n a ght T but this ined to tace pa rved him. be and he saw her atlate. This © “Broken-down motc CAr—storms—sm drifts—lies! I've had 'the whole story from a gentleman, sir, and you haven't the grace to look ashamed “A gentleman!” boy named I face peep now. No, I s ment to fair of y go hang, sir! 1f But the general flu “This is from mw when you have rea to ac With these words, and a threatening stumped out of the house. ‘Armitage opened the letter, and read the following in the light of the hall lamp: dear Gerald: I am so glad that you have kicked over the traces. Whatever could children knew about the responsibilities of an engagement and marriage I was preparing to face the general and you, because I am in love with somebody, and somebod: is in love with me, but you helped m out of a difficulty just in the nick of time. I am sure that Miss Lesley Fane and I shall be great chums. Your af- fecticnate cousin, ALICE WILD. Gerald nearly shouted “Hurrah!” He ran back to the sitting-room, and read the precious letter aloud; then he hand- ed it to Miss Fane, so that she could read it for herself. “Ars you satisfled now, darling™ he asked,. Her eyes grew misty and her face soft- ened. “You may kiss me,” she whispered, turning rosy red. “I have been unjust toward you, Gerald, but it was only because I had lost my heart to you." He dived Into his pocket and produc- ed the engagement ring he had bought for Allce Wild. “The last of my Christmas presents, proof of the truth and sacredness of a real Christmas Idyll!™ yonder hamed. M ote In his face. hi®r, sir, and 1 shgll know how d r Hopes | kept running to the dressing table to daub powder on my nose and poking the fire and peeking out of the window every time the doorbell rang. At last the bell gave a funny little conven- tional tinkle that might have been either an apathetic capitalist's or a timid drummer’s. . I had a premordtion that it was my customer this time, how- ever. I sneaked to the window and peered cautiously out. But the visitor, whoever he was, was standing just a few Inches too far inside the doorway to be seen from my point of vantage. Curlosity got the better of aiscretion within me, and, very carefully, so as not to make it creak, I opened the win- dow and leaned out. “I had scarcely touched the sill when there was a whirl of something white and vellow through the air, a splash and then a cra.wl I shrieked and clapped my hands to my eyes. When I withdrew them all T could see was the receding figure of a portly gentleman fn a frock coat flying madly down the streét with my custard ple reposing on the ton of his silk hat and dripping over his face and shoulders like Ni- agara Falls in winter. No, he won't coffie back. Don't attempt to console me! Tl never be able to swallow an- other mouthful of custard pie again as long as I live without choking! Every hope I've got in the world wa. squashed with that nie!™ And the tears rolled down her cheeks and fell info the fire in the grate that ‘wouldn't work.