AND SHE WAS HIS.

Western Star, Issue 1969, 8 December 1894, Page 2 (Supplement)

AND SHE WAS HIS.

FATE WILLED IT SO, BUT ALL THE TIME SHE HAD THE BULGE ON FATE. The scene was in a drawing-room of West Brompton, and a strange idea came into her mind. She was romantic, and all kinds of strange ideas flitted in and out of her pretty, silly little head. Stamping as hard as she could a patentleather boot on the carpet; throwing back her shoulders, her dress tightened over her bosom, which was heaving like the Mediterranean; and pointing to the Japanese cabinet in the corner of the room with a commanding gesture, she said in the peremtory tone of one who will not brook contradiction, whom nothing can turn from a set purpose : “Open one of those three drawers.” The young man precipitated himself toward the Japanese cabinet, “ Don’t be in such a hurry, pray. First hear what I have to say.”

He stopped suddenly, as if she had told him that the drawers were charged with dynamite, ready to explode as soon as the cabinet was touched.

“ Open one of those drawers, and be careful how you choose, for in each one I have placed an answer to the favour you have been begging and praying for so long. “I have made up Day mind to let this speak for me, and if you put your hands on the paper on which * Yes ’ is written, then I muSt yield to you. Then lam yours. “ But if the paper in the drawer says ‘No,’ you understand, ‘No’ it must be.” “I am sure it will be against me,” said her Bassanio, who was not so poetical as he was an ardent lover. “ Oh, I say, it is not fair, you know ; it’s really too cruel, ’pon my soul it is.” “You must take your chance,” she replied, tragically. “At any rate, I shall have this consolation —if you choose the answer you want, it will be fate that gives me to you. Tell me, do you believe in fate ?” “1 don’t know, he answered, hesitating between the three drawers. ; Ha paused to look into her face for guidance, but he found none there ; so, closing his eyes and trusting to providence, he elected for the middle drawer. He opened it, took out a tiny roll of scented pink paper and handed it to her. “ Well, what’s my sentence “ Read it yourself !” and she held up the rose leaf of paper, upon which was written one word — “ Yes !” So she was his. As if to take immediate possession, he put his arms about her and pressed her to him. She did not resist. She had given her word, and she resigned herself to her fate. With her lips clinging to his, the young man was not entirely happy ; for, after a few moments of extreme ecstaey, he became suddenly cool. “ What’s the matter, darling ?” she asked, noting the change and looking amorously into his eyes. “Are you not happy now ?” “ Not quite.” “ Not quite ! Am I not yours !” “Yes ; but I owe you, don’t you see, to chance. I won you by chance. You did not come to me of your own free will, did you, now?” and the poor fellow looked so ridiculously disconsolate that she could not help laughing in his face. “Don’t be so silly!” she said, tightening her arms about his neck, and standing on the tips of her toes to reach his lips, for he held his head high in the air. “If I must tell you, you old darling, I put the same answer in every one of the drawers !” PROVOKING TO “JOE.” The young man who receives and questions applicants for cards at the public library in a certain Yorkshire town relates some experiences quite as amusing as those which are so often recorded by the muchtried ticket agents in railway stations. “ Have you ever had a card ? ” he asked a pretty but bewildered young woman who presented herself at Ins desk one day, and from whom he had elicited her name and address after .so me little parley. “ Why, I can’t remember whether I have or not,” she said, in a dubious voice. “We had one in the family, hurt I’m sure I don’t know whether it belonged to me or my sister Ellen. You see, that was before I was married. I suppose 1 could write and ask Ellen. She’s living out in Idaho, but then she might not remember, either !” “It won’t be necessary to write her,” said the clerk. “ How long ago was this ?” “Oh, dear me !” said the young woman. “ Now I wish I could think ! Let me see ; I used to come here to get books when I was engaged. Joe, my husband, is very literary, and I used to try to keep up with him. I remember that first winter I read all Dickens’s books—or was it Thackeray ? I wonder which it could have been.”

“ Well, no matter just how long ago it was,” remarked the amused listener, as the young woman rested her face on her hand, apparently lost in pleasant recollections. “ Will you give me some one as a reference, please ?” “ Why, how funny !” said the young wife. “I really forgot where I was. It seenis queer for yon to want a reference ; but Joe’s address is 140, Blank-street. He has a splendid position there, I think,” she added, sinking l her voice to a confidential whisper. They’ll ask him to become otle of the firm next spring. But Joe told me I’d better not tell people that, so, of course, you won’t say anything about it.” “ I won’t mention it,” the young man assured her, controlling his face with some difficulty ; “but please give me some other reference than your husband.” “What for?” asked the youn„ woman, indignantly. “Simply because it’s the rule,” replied the clerk.

“ Well, it’s a very poor rule,” she rejoined, in a tone of contempt. “ But I’ll refer you to my father. He’s at 24, Waiter-street. Or you can go to my brother at 76, Morseplace, or to Cousin Will, at the Stock Exchange; but Joe will be very much provoked to think you weren’t satisfied with him. ”

With that she took up her handbag and four paper parcels, gave the clerk a frosty “ Good morning,” and walked away from the desk, leaving the poor man without any idea as to the name, other than Christian, of her father, brother, or cousin, and with only a confused jumble of addresses in his mind. She never came again, and the clerk is left to suppose that either “ Joe ” was provoked, or she has for the second time lost her desire to be “literary.” A POPULAR CONTRIBUTOR. ‘ It used to be,” remarked a successful business man with some literary taste and learning, “ that I wrote imaginative articles for the leading magazines of the country. “ When you were young, I suppose ? commented his companion. „ li Yes, much younger than I am now. “ Were they accepted ?” “Never; but I presume with age and larger experience and riper knowledge ones style and matter improves, and the woik he does is far more meritorious. ’ His companion showed an interest not before observable. (( You don’t mean,’ ho asked 3 that you send anything’ to them now that is acceptable “Oh ves,” he replied promptly, “there isn’t a magazine in the country that isn’t glad to print my articles now and some of them even solicit them. I have something in some of them every month. “I have never noticed them, more surprised than ever. “ Are they signed ? ’ “ Yes, by the firm’s name. \on will find them in the advertising pages. In the Midst of the Fight.—Mrs. S.— “ They say a man never marries his first loVd. ” Her hubby: “He can’t; it would be Dolvfinjmy-”