AN ADEQUATE REASON

Cromwell Argus, Volume XXVII, Issue 1363, 4 June 1895, Page 2

AN ADEQUATE REASON

Hi 3 namoSvns George Carew, and at tho timo of which 1 write ho was a passenger on board the Royal Mail steamer Cobra on her homeward voyage from Buenos Ayrcs to Southampton. It was lato in tho year, and the passengers wero comparatively few. I cannot with truth say that Carew was a general favorite on board. Ho was taciturn us a rule, and when he was not taciturn he was apt to be dogmatic. Among the male passengers he was Usually spoken of as "a decent fellow enough, but queer." The feminine portion of the community thought—or said they thought him uninteresting. Among their number was a tall, pretty blond, who had gradually pierced the armor of his reserve, and in whose company he had even been seen to smile. They became very good friends—so much so indeed as to draw down upon the young lady's head various maternal lectures on the folly of encouraging young men who were nobodies. But as Carew, of course, did not hear these lectures, and as Miss Ida Lennox was a self willed young person, their friendship suffered no interruption. There was a certain Mrs. Bouverie on board, an extremely handsome widow, in whom Carew, for some unknown reason, had aroused a violent dislike. She was clever as well as handsome, but was possessed of a passionate and somewhat uncertain temper which last, however, in virtue of her many counterbalancing good qualities, was universally condoned. Ono evening at dinner Mrs. Bouverie was expatiating to those nearest to her on tho value and antiquity of a very curious and beautiful ring which she wore, and which she had picked up in a tour through Italy. She affirmed it to bo at least 800 years old. It was a broad gold baud, chased richly and with marvelous delicacy and set all round at regular intervals with large diamonds of exquisite brilliancy. Inside were two capital letters, N. C, each letter formed of tiny seed pearls sunk into the gold. Mrs. Bouverie, who was of a romantic turn, was of opinion that it had been an ancient betrothal ring. There was a half effaced date inside, which the widow's right hand neighbor, a pale, consumptive looking clergyman, was in vain trying to decipher through a small magnifying glass. Presently a lady opposite begged to be allowed to examine the ring, and from her it was passed from hand to hand pretty well up and down the length of the table. But, strange to say, it did not come back to its owner. It had apparently disappeared. Every one declared it had passed safely out of his or her hands. Where was it then? There was a great commotion, of course; everybody roso, and a thorough search was made, on and under the table and from one end to the other of the long saloon. Tho ring, however, was not forthcoming. Its owner had by this time become somewhat excited, and a rather disagreeable scene ensued. In point of fact, Mrs. Bouverie insinuated that some one had appropriated her ring. Upon this, some of the male passengers angrily suggested that, if Mrs.Bouverie entertained suspicions of that nature, all present had better turn out their pockets. To this proposition there was a general assent. All resumed their seats, and there was a hurried disentombing of keys, letters, pocket handkerchiefs, etc., but no ring. Carew, to tho surprise of all, quietly refused to exhibit the contents of hiß pockets. "But merely as a matter of form, Mr. Carew," expostulated the captain. The young man, however, repeated his refusal courteously, but more inflexibly, if anything, than before. There was an awkward silence. Then Mrs. Bouverie forgot herself. "May I ask, sir," she said, addressing Carew in an excited tone, '' why you refuse to do as all your fellow passengers have done?" "Yon may, madam," was the brief and haughty ansAver. "Well, sir, and why not?" "Because I have a A-ery special reason for not doing so,'' he ansAvered in a carefully repressed voice. "And that reason?" "I fear I must decline to give it," he ansAvered quietly, but with an ominous flash in his gray eyes. "Then you are aAvare of the imputation your refusal casts upon your character?" inquired the lady scornfully. "That is a matter of the utmost indifference to me," was the icy answer. But the speaker's hand, as it lay upon the table, opened and shut in a quick, nervous fashion Avhich showed that he Avas less unmoved than he looked. Whereupon Mrs. Bouverie Avaxed moro and more indiscreet, and all but accused CareAV of having tho ring in his posssesion. "Mrs. Bouverie, Mrs. Bouverie,"remonstrated the captain, '' this is really not quite fair." Here Carew, who had been growing whiter every moment, rose from his seat. "I regret that you should havo such an opinion of me as your Avords imply, Mrs. Bouverie," ho said in a queer, uncertain voice. "May I suggest that you drop the subject for the present? My temper is not all that it might be, and I should bo sorry to be guilty of discourtesy to a lady." Then lie left the saloon and Avent on deck. After this day, however, Carew observed a gradual but marked difference in his felloAV passengers' demeanor toward him. His greetings wero received coldly, though with scrupulous politeness. Groups began to melt insensibly away at his approach, or his advent was a signal fur a dead silence. If this general boycotting affected the object of it, he did not phow it, but pimply withdrew into iuinsel-? and

avoided other people as deliberately as they avoided him. To only ono person did ho make an advances, and ho only made them once. It was in this way: Early one morning ho was standing looking moodily to leeward, when he suddenly became aware that Miss Lennox had conio on deck and was leaning against one of the doors of the covered stairway. Their eyes met. She blushed deeply, made a half hesitating movement of her head —which might have meant a morning salutation or might not —and turned away. But Carew took steps toward her. "One moment, Miss Lennox," he Baid in an odd voice. "Will you tell me why you have avoided me so persistently during the last few dayß?" '' Avoided you ?" she stammered awkwardly enough. '' Oh—l, really—not at all. But—but" Carew smiled slowly, but his lips were pale. "I beg your pardon," he said quietly. Then he lifted his cap and walked away. As he did so he saw one of the male passengers grinning from behind an abnormally large cigar. He did not pitch the youth overboard, but he could have done so with pleasure. After this little episode, Carew was, if possible, more ostracised than ever. Only the captain treated him with comparative cordiality. But as the days went on he, too, became less kind, especially after one forenoon when he opened to Carew the matter in hand. The young man cut him short at once. "I don't care to discuss the thing. You can believe what your passengers seem to believe, or you can let it alone. It is nothing tome." Captain North shrugged his shoulders and walked off. Carew laughed. His laugh was short, though, and bitter. If this suspected young man had been anybody in particular it is possible they might not have been so hard upon him. But as he was simply George Carew, with nothing beyond an average good looking face and well set up figure to recommend him, and as, moreover, his clothes had a look of having seen better days and were by no means of the latest cut, he was clearly not an acquaintance to bo regretted. At dinner that night Carew found himself next a small, gray clad young woman, with a pale, serious face and a smooth, birdlike head of dark brown hair. She had also, as he absently noted, exquisitely shaped hands. He had never entered into conversation with the little woman; indeed he had hardly been aware of her existence beyond hearing the captain address her once or twice as Miss Neville. As he took his seat beside her tonight, however, she said in a low, clear voice, "Good evening, Mr. Carew." It was so many days since any of the lady passengers had addressed him at all that he actually started. "I beg your pardon?" he said. "I only said good evening," the girl in gray made answer, looking up at him with a little smile. Then he noticed that her teeth were very pretty and her eyes very satisfactory indeed. Before he had time to speak, she went on: "The captain says that before many days we shall be in the bay of Biscay. I have not crossed it since I was a little child. I suppose it will be frightfully rough?" "I think it is more than likely," he answered, gazing steadily at his plate. Whereupon they drifted into a subdued, friendly conversation which lasted till the end of the meal. Carew was not a particularly soft hearted fellow, but it touched him strangely—this unlooked for partisanship. It gave him a queer, unwonted lump in his throat and made him feel womanish, which annoyed him. Next morning he saw the girl in gray on deck. She was standing quite still, watching the screaming sea birds that flew and dipped astern. Her pale, serious little face already seemed to him like the face of a friend. As he passed her with a slight bow she turned, held out her hand and bade him a cheery good morning, supplementing it by some trifling remark regarding the weather. He stopped, answered her and stood beside her for a minute or two. Then he flung away his cigar and leaned his arm on tho railing. His companion scanned his face swiftly and covertly. She thought he looked dispirited, and sho felt for him, for she was a tender heaited little woman. They talked on indifferent subjects until luncheon and repeated the process between that meal and dinner and also in the evening. And so it came to pass that Carew began to look upon this small, gray clad creature as his one friend in all his present world. He learned a great deal about her from her half unconscious confidences—among other things that her Christian name was Joyce, and that she was an orphan, and that she had known trouble. But sho learned little or nothing about him. Tho Cobra touched at Corunna, where ono or two Englishmen came on board. Then caino the redoubtable bay of Biscay. On tho night they left Corunna there was a glorious moon, under the rays of which Miss Neville and Carew were walking up and down on deck. The steamer was rolling a great deal, and he had offered her his arm, which sho had accepted. She treated him in a frank, unembarrassed fashion, almost as a sister might have done —and he ? Well, men are susceptible, you know, and I am bound to say his feelings to her were not altogether those of a brother. When they had taken a few turns in silence, she said suddenly, "Mr. Carew, Ave seem to have become such good friends by this time that I should like to say something to you which otherwise I should not presume to say." She looked up at him as she spoke, and he looked down at her. "You know you may say anything you please to me," he said, with a curious lingering tenderness in his voice. "You won't think it a liberty, -will you?" ah© went on.

"I shall assuredly not think it a liberty, '' was tho brief answer. Ceitainly her eyes were very lovely. They thrilled him through and through. "I want to ask you, then." sho said somewhat nervously, '' why you allow those people to believo what they beliovo about you:" She felt him wince elightly. There was a silence. The monotonous throbbing of the engines amidships mingled with floating scraps of half heard talk and laughter. Then Carew said in a hard, bittei voice: ' * Unfortunately I am not responsible for their beliefs, Miss Neville. Besides, what they believe of me may be —true. 1 am—pardon me—an utter stranger to you; you have no reason to believe in my innocence." "I do believe in your innocence, though," she murmured, an excited thrill running through her voice. "May I ask why?" He spoke clearly, but she felt his arm tremble under her hand. For one swift moment she looked up at him, and her eyes were full of tears. But he did not see them, for he was gazing straight before him. "Why?" she repeated, with a curious sobbing little laugh. "Because I —know!" A minute later she was gone, and he was watching the last flutter of her gown disappearing in tho direction of the stairway. Late that night Carew sat in his cabin, leaning his elbows on his knees, and staring earnestly at something he held between his fingers, something that twinkled and sparkled as the light of the electric lamp fell upon it. It was a broad gold gipsy ring, richly chased, and set at intervals with largo diamonds. Inside were two Roman letters formed of tiny seed pearls. ****** For two days after that it blew a pretty fair gale. It rained a good deal, too, at intervals; and such of the passengers as were not violently seasick in their berths kept to the saloon or the music room, with the exception of two or three hardy males, of whom Carew was one. As he passed the door of the stairway toward the evening of tho second day, he saw Miss Neville, who had just struggled so far, and was clinging to the door to windward. She was looking white and ill, he thought, but when he told her so she only laughed. "Do you care to come for a turn?" he said. "It doesn't rain now, and 1 will take good care you don't fall," he added. She consented, but the steamer was pitching so heavily that after a few turns Miss Neville said she would rather sit down. So Carew provided her with a sheltered seat, brought a warm rug to wrap about her feet and seated himself beside her. It was now almost dark. A few stars shone here and there in the stormy sky. The wind shrieked and whistled drearily. The deck was deserted. _ For quite a long time both were silent. Then Carew said in a half whisper: "You are trembling. You aronot afraid of the storm, are you? It is nothing for the bay, I assure you.' "No —I am not afraid." "You feel quite safe here with me?" he went on, sinking his voice lower yet. "Yes," she answered somewhat tremulously. After a pause he laid his hand on hers as it rested on her knee and said in an odd, deliberate kind of way: "Will you let me take care of you always? I mean as my wife. I have grown to love you very dearly, and I think I could make you happy." For perhaps a minute there was utter silence. Then Carew withdrew his hand, saying hastily and in an indefinably changed voice: "Ah! you do not care for me. Perhaps it is as well, and perhaps I had no right to ask you to do so. I forgot for a moment that I am a man under a cloud —a cloud that in all probability will never be lifted, for I tell you honestly I have no means of righting myself. Forget what I have said." Tho words and tone were hardly loverlike, but there was a slight, almost imperceptible quiver in the deep voice. A small hand stole softly into his. "I do care for you," said a happy little voice, "and I would take your word against all tho world." Another pause. Carew did not even press the hand he held. Then he said harshly: '' But suppose I cannot give you my word ? Suppose I tell you that I am what our fellow passengers think I am?" "I should not believe you," was the confident answer. "But if I tell you that you must believe me?" His face as ho looked down was very pale and wore an expression she could hardly fathom. She uttered a half suppressed little cry, but she did not take her hand away—only nestled it farther into his. He grasped it almost painfully; then let it go. "Foolish, trusting little woman," he said in a strange voice. "Must I give you proof that your trust is—misplaced?" He held out his other hand to her. In its palm lay the ring. Even in the dim light she recognized it at once. There was a curious, breathless pause, during which Carew never took his eyes from the girl's face. "Well?" he quietly said at last. He felt her little fingers close tightly on his. "I can't help it," she said brokenly. "I love you—l love you." "And will you be my wife?" Sho could not see his face, but his voice shook. "Yes," she whispered, hiding her face in both her hands. But the hands were gently drawn. In the semidarkness she felt his arm come about her, and his mustache brush her lips. "Darling," he murmured passionately, "you shall never regret it —I

swear," and in his eyes glittered something that looked like tears. ****** Next morning one of the Englishmen who had coino on board at Corunna, and who had been ill ever since, appeared on deck. As it happened, the first person he saw was Carew. They greeted each other cordially, j and after the fashion of old friends. This Englishman, by the way, was a well known statesman, and a very good ' fellow besides. In the smoking room that afteroonn some one kindly put him on his guard as to Carew and supplied the details. "I thought I would mention it, you know," appended the man who had spoken. "I saw you speaking to him awhile ago." "Thank you," was the dry answer. ••I've known George Carew for a good many years. I think 1 have a pretty good idea of his idiosyncrasies, and 1 don't think annexing other people's property is one of them. By the way, you may not have heard that he has come into the title and is now Lord Evandale. I though I'd mention it, you know," he added with a somewhat grim smile. In tho silence that followed, the speaker lit a fresh cigar, rose and went out. I blush to have to relate that during the remainder of that day a good many of tho Cobra's passengers became suddenly imbued with the conviction of Carew's —or rather Lord Evandale's — innocence and evidenced as much. How their overtures were received perhaps I need not say. Joyce Neville was a little shy with her lover when she knew. But in the course of a starlit walk on deck he made that all right. She, it seemed, had had the idea that he was rather obscure and hard up than otherwise, at which confession he was a good deal touched. I think it was on the evening before the Cobra got into Southampton that tho head steward made a startling discovery. Mrs. Bouverie's ring was found in a distant corner of the saloon, where it had been effectually concealed by an upstanding corner of the carpet. Captain North publicly restored the ring to its owner that night at dinner. There was a very uncomfortable silence for a few moments. Every one had an awkward kind of feeling that some sort of apology should be made to the haughty looking young man who was at present helping Miss Neville to claret. And every one had an equally awkward conviction that any apology or any explanation whatsoever would be worse than impossible. The subject of their thoughts, however, forestalled anything of the kind. There was something rather fine in his appearance just then, as he leaned back in his chair and threw a keen glance first up and then down tho table. "As Mrs. Bouverie is now, I hope, satisfied that I did not steal her ring," he said in a cold, clear voice that penetrated to every corner of tho long saloon, "I will explain my reason for refusing to turn out my pockets as the rest of you did. I possess a ring which is the exact fac simile of that possessed by Mrs. Bouverie, and as I had the ring in my pocket on the evening in question I naturally objected to its being mistaken for any other one's property. You arc all at liberty to examine it, if Miss Neville chooses." As he spoke, he turned and slipped the "double" of Mrs. Bouverie's ring on tho third finger of Joyce Neville's left hand. The look which accompanied the action spoke volumes. There was a pause of intense astonishment; then a babel of excited and wondering exclamations, in the midst of which Lord Evandale rose and went out on deck. The rings were identical, with one exception—in one the initials were N. C.; in the other. C. N. Mrs.Bouverio looked crushed and unhappy, for of all things she dearly loved a lord. There was weeping and gnashing of teeth, too, in the cabin of the Lennoxes. —Montreal Star. A Queer Thing About Camels. Some years ago when the British troops were fighting against the forces oftheMahdi in the Soudan opportunity was afforded to many of the correspondents accompanying the expedition to study the habits of the camel. Most of the transportation of the soldiers' baggage was done by these ships of the desert, as they are called, and at night some of the newspaper men spent a portion of their leisure trying to learn something new about these strange creatures. One of them, who was an inveterate smoker, discovered that tho camel is a great lover of tobacco. Let any one smoke a pipe or cigar in the camel compound, said he, and the camel will follow the smoker about, place his nose close to the burning tobacco, inhale tho fumes with a prolonged sniff, swallow the smoke, then throwing his head up, with mouth agape and eyes upturned, showing the bloodshot whites, will grunt a sigh of ectasy that would make the fortune of a low comedian in a lovo scene.—Harper's Young People.

Regret. Jarvis (in surprise)— Why, Jenkins, in that you? I heard you were killed. Jenkins (sadly)— No. It, was my brother. Jarvis (thoughtlessly)— Too bud, too badl —B., K. & Co.'s Monthly. A Whole Suit to Go Through. "Few people," said the wife as she proceeded to investigate her husband's pockets after he had gone to sleep—"few people are aware of what a wife has to go through."— New York Press. He Knew. Harvard Professor—What's the plural of "fun?" Freaky—Finds.—New York World.

He CcTernl i Great Deal <>/ Ground, A certain John H< dgdon, who lived in Weare. N. TL, more than 100 years ago. watf one of the meu who seem always to have luck on their side. Whatever he put his hand to prospered. As lite neighbors used to say, "John Hodgdon's dish is always right side up when it rains porridge." Probably his good luck was mostly shrewdness and frugality. We are told that he was an excellent farmer. At all events, shrewd or lucky, tie grew richer and richer and bought more and more land, till people began to wonder where the thing would end. The general feeling was well expressed by Folly Tuttle. She was one of a company of young people who, being out under the full moon, began discussing the question whether the darker portions of the moon's face were land. "We can easily settle that," said the bright Polly. "Let's go in and ask Mr. Hodgdon. He'll know, for if it's land he's got a mortgage on it."—Youth's Companion. Arched.

Sally Gay— What a cunning little fellow Mr. Calipers is! Dolly Swift—Cunning? "Why, he's dreadfully bow legged! Sally Gay—Yes, but that gives him such anarch look, you know.—Truth. Mark Twain's Way. The Rev. J. Hyatt Smith, says the Kansas City Times, relates the following story: When I was living with my brother in Buffalo, Mark Twain occupied a cottage across the street. We didn't see very much of hini, but one morning as we were enjoying our cigars on the veranda after breakfast we saw Mark come to his door, in his dressing gown and slippers, and look over at us. He stood at his door and smoked for a minute as iPYmaking up his mind about something and at last opened his gate and came lounging across the street. There was an unoccupied rocking chair on the veranda, and when my brother offered it to him he dropped into it with a sigh of relief. He smoked for a few moments and said: "Nice morning." "Yes, very pleasant." "Shouldn't wonder if we had rain by and by." "Well, we could stand a little." "This is a nice house you have here." "Yes, we rather like it." "How's your family?" "Quite well—and yours?" "Oh, we're all comfortable." There was another impressive silence, and finally Mark Twain crossed his legs, blew a puff of smoke into the air and in his lazy drawl remarked: "I suppose you are a bit surprised to see me here so early. Fact is I haven't been so neighborly perhaps as I ought to be. We must mend that state of things. But this morning I came over because I thought you might be interested in knowing that your roof is on fire. It struck me that it would be a good idea if" But at the mention of fire the whole family dusted up stairs, trailing language all the way up. When we had put the fire out and returned to the veranda, Mark wasn't there. The Children. Teacher (to botany class)— After a bean is planted a little shoot appears above the ground, and this soon bursts into two leaves. Now, what comes next? Bright Boy—The bean pole.—New York Telegram. Mamma—What did you do to entertain the little girl that came to play with you? Lottie—We looked at pictures and told stories. Mamma—Why didn't you play at keeping house and visiting? Lottie—We did try, but she didn't know anything piean about the neighbors, and we didn't have anything to talk about.—Chicago Inter Ocean. Tottie (aged s)—l wonder why babies is always born in de night time. Lottie (aged 7, a little wiser)— Don't you know? It's cos' they wants to make sure of findin their mothers at home.—Pearson's Weekly. A Mean Fellow. A vivacious young lady is wondering why she lost her be.-<t fellow, and this ishissideof the story: "That girl just giggled all the time, and I had to keep my face in a broad grin to pretend to be interested in what she said. I stood it until my face got tired being stretched, and then I had to quit to rest my face. Honest. She doesn't do a thing but giggle." But his friends say it is a case of she-grin on the part of the young man. —Indianapolis Sentinel. 'Mid Pleasures and Palaces. Mr. Flathouse—Well, how is the last new girl going to suit? Mrs. Flathouse—l don't know at all, dear. She is a Norwegian. Mr. Flathouse—Great Scottl Can't you stick to one nationality? You've had a Swede, a Frenchwoman, a German and an Irish girl, all within two weeks. It makes a man think he is living in a sort of Midway plaisance.—Puck. Looking For a Precedent. "Wow! Murder!" said the young lady from New York to her beautiful Boston friend. "Great goodness, Clara, what are you standing there like a mummy for when there's a mouse right under you?" "Hush," said Clara, calming herself by a great effort, "I am trying to recollect what one of Ibsen's heroines would have done in a similar emergency."—Chicago Record. Easy to Laugh. Mrs. Brickrow—lt does a body good to have Dr. Grinn when one is sick. He is always so jolly. Mr. Brickrow—You'd be jolly, too, if you were getting $3 for a 10 minute call.—New York Weekly. A Considerate Wife. Caller—Why don't you get your husband to carry up your coal for you? Lady of the House—He's in his gymnasium exercising, and I don't like to disturb him.—New York World. Worse Still. Husband—Does that man keep up that outlandish racket on the cornet all night? Wife—Dear me, no. I only wish he did, sometimes he goes to sleep and snorea -Chicago Inter Ocean.

HE REMEMBERED The Strapping Young Man Prom Ypsilanti Had Not Forgotten Him. A strapping young man, with a cold look in his eye ami a brand new clothes wringer resting on his knee, sat in the waiting room of the Third Street, depot waiting for his train. In gazing about his eyes rested on a certain man, and he nave a sudden start. He rose to hisfeet and started again. Then ho deposited his clothes wringer on the settee and walked over to a flashily dressed man about 40 years old whom any one would have spotted as a fakir and asked: "Don't you travel around with tooth powder?" "No, sir!" was the sharp reply. "Wasn't you in Ypsilanti last fall?" "No, sir!" "Yes, you was, and I'll bet on it. You are the same darned feller, and I know it!" "Sir! What does this mean?" demanded the other. "It means that I was in Ypsilanti last fall and bought a box of your tooth powder. You changed ass bill, and darn my hide if you didn't hornswaggle me out of $1!" "Sir!" "No use, old fellowl I knowed ye the miuit I sot eyes on ye. Same big diamond pin—same necktie—same nose humped up in the middle like a circus camel! I want that dollar!" "This is outrageous! I'll call a policeman!" shouted the fakir. "Call and be durued to ye, but I'll lick ye first! You ei l her come down with that dollar, or I'll wallop ye till ye can't holler!" "Look here," replied the other in much milder tones, "you are mistaken. It was my cousin who was in Ypsilanti. He is dead now." "Then I'll take it out of you!" "He is dead, as I remarked, and rather than have any blot resting on his fair escutcheon I will pay you the dollar." "That's all right. I don't know nuthin about 'scutcheons, but I've got to have that dollar or pull hair. I've bin lookin for your humpbacked nose all over the face of the earth, and I've laid awake nights thin kin how I'd made ye holler like an Injun if I got my paws on ye." He was given a dollar, and the fakir disappeared at once, and the young man ex plained to those about him: "I'm almost sorry he gave up so soon. I was just achin clean down to my toes to lick him all over a 40 acre lot."—Detroit Free Press. He Ileconsidered His Intention. A friend of the writer tells this story. He says he was traveling in New Brunswick one cold, stormy night this winter. It was snowing, and the wind was blowing furiously. He had driven a long distance without seeing a house, and he knew it must be a long way to a village where accommodations for man and beast could be secured. So he hailed with delight a rough farmhouse by the roadside and drove up in front and began to shout to the inmates. It seemed a long time before there was any sign of life, but at last a chamber window opened, aud a rough man's voice, with a good deal of profanity intermingled, asked what was wanted. "I want to stay here all night," said our friend. "Well, stay there and be d dto you. You needn't wake everybody up in the middle of the night," and down went that window with a smash.—Portland Express. As to the Paternal Mind. While rounding the post at the head of the stairs on his way to bed the sleepy old father of the family knocked his tenderest corn against something hard. In the recoil he upset a broom, a dustpan and a coal bucket that somebody had left standing near the top step, and they went banging down the stairway. In the parlor sat young Spoonainore. As he listened to the horrible racket and the energetic vocal outburst from the floor above that accompanied it he turned pale. "Is you father taking that method of showing his displeasure at my coming here, Miss Pinkie?" he whispered anxiously. "You needn't be afraid of papa, Mr. Spoonamore," she answered. "He has changed his mind about you." "Is—is that the way he changes his mind?" he inquired, nervously fingering his hat. — Chicago Tribune. ICuew How It Was Himself. Colonel Yergerdoes not think it right to bestow promiscuous charity. A few days ago a beggar met him and applied to him for pecuniary assistance. After considerable reflection Colonel Yerger responded with a reluctant quarter and an expression of sympathy. "Thank you, colonel," said the tramp. "I reckon you know how a fellow feels who has no education and has to deadbeat his way through the world."—Texas Sittings. Not an Immune. "Do you know how to whistle 'Daisy Belle?'" asked the man who had advertised for an office boy. The boy thought that he saw the trend of the question and promptly answered, "Naw." "I guess you won't do then. I want a boy who has been through the attack and recovered." —Indianapolis Journal. What He Does. "What do you do," asked the novice in finance, "when the market sends prices up to where you don't want them?" "What do I do?" echoed the operator with unlimited resources. "I grin and bear it." —Washington Star. Explaining It. Small Boy (to mamma, tucking his sister in bed)— Tuck in my footses, too, mamma, Small Sister (severely)— You mustn't say "footses," you must say feet. One feet is a foot, and two footses is feet. —Life. A Preference. Reuben—lf I were a dog, I'd rather be a black one than a white one. Mamma—Why, Reuben? Reuben—Because then I wouldn't have to be given a bath so often. —Puck. She Was Broad Minded.

Pompous Maiden Lady (engaging servaut, who has taken the liberty to sit down without being asked) —Do you know that it is a great breach of etiquette for any one to tit down in the presence of their superiors? Bridget—Lor', yes, mum, but kape your sate! I don't belave in them ancient superBtitions. —Truth.