The Destiny of Delores

Dunstan Times, Issue 2154, 28 October 1902, Page 7

The Destiny of Delores

Bj Kate M* Cleary.

(Copyright, 1901, by tba Author*’ Syndic*to.) IT was with a vague sense of unreality that Dolores found herself answering the questions of the clerk. She wondered if he noticed anything strange about her —if he was in the smallest degree suspicious. A glance at her reflection in the mirror over the soda water fountain reassured her. It was a calm face that looked backather —an attractive face. The wide-apart black brows arched on. the serene white brow, and the lips of firmness and sweetness gave to the face its air of dignity—-of nobility. No—there was no obvious reason why he should sucrmise that she needed the liquid for other than disinfecting purposes. She took the bottle wrapped in gLa zed paper, and left the store. It was early in the afternoon, and the day was divine. The air was not sharp, although November was at hand. It was soothing —mellow, as old, wine. State street looked less commercial and more poetic to the wide, clear, penetrating gaze of Dolores Burnett than she had fancied possible. “It must be because I am seeing it for the Last time,” she said to herself. She stood on the dioorsbep and looked north and south. The sidewalks of both the fashionable east side and the workday west side of the street were crowded. The last fine Saturday of the season had tempted many out. A hustling, hurrying, colliding crowdi—what a conglomerate, bewildering, pitiable, fascinating, suggestive spectacle they all mode. A man passing recognised’ Miss Burnett and raised his hat. She bowed —a queer, whimsical, little smile curving the corners of her mouth- when he had passed. “Ho has taken three of my stories,” she murmured. “And he will pay for them on publication.” She glanced down at the vial in the glazed paper. “I wonder if he would pay for one of them now if he knew!” Then she decided it did not matter — did not matter in the least. A few more written —a few more accepted'—or a few less.. She couldn’t make enough to live on if all were paid on acceptance—every one of them. “Five years!” she saidk “Five years of poverty, of ambition, of sacrifice'— and at the end, failure!” She had reached the pavement, was walking southward, mechanically avoiding contact with not really seeing them. She walked with the- firm, assured;, undeviating step of those familiar with city streets. Suddenly she paused, arrested by a flame of color—saffron, and crimson and purple. “Asters, lady?” cried the man, standing beside his wicker basket at the curb. “Asters, dahlias —marigold a?” She shook her head and wanton. She had no money for flowers. No money for anything if it oame to that-—not even for carfare. But the sight of the old-fashioned blooms had brought a wave of homesickness which seemed to kwrenoh all physical strength from her ■pid leave her weak and trembling. TSow plainly she saw it—the old home! The square green farmhouse, with its clematis-covered porch, its sweep of sward, its flower beds outlined with mathematical precision. And it we ain the summer-house there—the warped old summer-house —that sho had told Everett Harper she could newer be his wife.

“My work is mapped out for me,” she had said. “I hare been, scribbling all my life. I want to be a writer. I shall not be content with a little success. I must become famous. And I shall. I’ve been reading a great deal about the women, who hare suc£Atde& They almost all to

| think that you can thus trample upon the ; honor cf a respectable family and do so ■with impunity, you are much misiaken. Your obedient servant, ISABELLA JOHNSON. Mr, Sterrimer laughed and helped ’ himself to sardines. ! “Fancy having that shrimp-eating old harridan for a ma-in-law! Not for I J. L. S., my dear boys! My letters may i have been a bit strong, and my general lovy-dovyness rather open, but there’s no 8.-of-P. case to be made out of me.” Alas! not even young solicitors of a partially Semitic origin can control the vagaries of a frolicsome fate. One afternoon the week following, while he was smiling sweetly at the healthful tone of his bankbook, the clerk of a hated rival was shown in to him. The youth in question was struggling to suppress a smile. “Beg pardon, Mr. Sterrimer,” he said, in a kind of half-choked voice. He handed the solicitor a familiar-looking document. Oh, to think that he should have been served—- • * ; IN THE HIGH COURT OF JUSTICE, : ; QUEEN’S BENCH DIVISION. 1 : 1899. J. No. : : ROSE JOHNSON, Plaintiff, : : V. r : : JOHN LAURENCE STERRIMER, : Defendant. : ♦ . * And to think that this document should be indorsed with — “The plaintiff’s claim Is for damages for breach of promise of marriage." “Impudence!” shrieked the writted one. “There can be no evidence.” There he was doomed to be mistaken. The trial came on, and the court was packed with those good matured friends who find the keenest delight in the miseries of Jonathan and Pythias. The evidence given by the plaintiff and three young typewriters was of the most, startling character. Three bonny, bright eyedTity sylphs had each the self-same t£le to coo forth. If we quote Jane Kobinson we quote the other two. Jane Robinson (called) —Our tele- ‘ phone is in direct connection with Snooks & Bellby’s, where Miss Johnson is employed. I also know Mr. Sterrimer’s voice as coming through the telephone quite well. On the 30th of August, at the request of Miss Johnson, I stood by our telephone at 3:30 p. m. precisely. I can recognize the defendant’s voice through our telephone quite distinctly. I heard him say: “Dear Rose, I love you for your beauty and virtue. Be my wife, darling; I should glory in your love, and glory to make it known to all the world.” Further examined, the witness continued: “I took it down in shorthand. We have also Ibersen’s new phone in our office, and the words were transmitted into it direct from the telephone. No, there could- be no mistake whatever as to its being Mr. Sterrimer’s voice. Yes, Miss Johnson did tell me what she has already stated in her evidence, that she concealed the end of her receiver in a bouquet of roses, and that Mr. Sterrimer had spoken into it —that she had meant him to do so, as he was always making proposals of marriage when no witnesses were by. When the last of the three typewriting witnesses had finished Phlneas Buzfuz, Q. C., opened a large wooden case. “This,” said that learned counsel for the plaintiff, “is one of the famous phonos, with all the latest improvements of the great American inventor, Ibersen. With your lordship’s permission, and to make use of a somewhat vulgar phrase, I shall now proceed to turn on the tap." The court listened in breathless expectation. Out came the undoubted tones of Mr. Sterrimer, uttered in mysterious falsetto-forte whispers: “Dear Bose, I love.you for your beauty—” The rest was almost drowned in laughter, in which the learned judge himself took part. The laughter had only for a few seconds subsided when Mr. Buzfuz treated the court to yet another surprise. A large frame, six feet by two, draped in linen, was held up in front of the jury by the plaintiff’s solicitor’s “outdoor common law.” The covering was raised. Horror for the defendant! Yes, naught else but a most splendid Cherony’s photo enlargement of the defendant clasping the plaintiff to his bosom. “My lord,” said the learned counsel, “this is the age of science. By the aid of a kodak concealed in a cigar case on the mantel shelf, provided with a lengthened tube, of which the pneumatic ball was placed on the floor beneath a sheet of newspaper and touched by the fairy foot of my fascinating client, the condition of the defendant’s feelings and treatment of the lady are here clearly depicted. Allow me to state that it was only out of regard for the shrinking modesty of this ill-treat-ed young lady that this evidence was not produced by mutoscope.” When order had been restored the excellent Buzfuz, Q. C., was to be seen in affable consultation with the opposing counsel. “Your lordship,” said he, "may we request an adjournment with a view to a possibly amicable settlement?” “It would certainly be in the interest of both parties,” said his> lordship, smiling sweetly. That little settlement cost Mr. Sterrimer the small sum of £ 500 sterling, exclusive of costs. Still, fate showed some little kindness to him. He happened to hold £ 5,000 worth of shares in the Ibersen’s Phonograph, Limited. The advertisement caused by the display in open court was so good that the shares went up like Mr, Brock’s Thursday night rockets. So he lost nothing in particular after all. As to Miss Rose Johnson? She invested her £ 500 in running a private money lending show for the benefit, or the contrary, of smart typewriters.— Chicago Times-Herald. /