Complete Story. A Shoot of Grey Note Paper.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXIX, Issue II, 12 July 1902, Page 73

Complete Story. A Shoot of Grey Note Paper.

By

EMILY IDAH FARNUM.

"Bess! ” "Don’t call me 'Bess,' my name is Elizabeth; and, considering the publicity of our surroundings, I think it would be more dignified, not to say respectful, for you to address me as Miss Richards?’ “Well. I never!" ejaculated Mr Vernon, as he seated himself at the table and surveyed the small, irate person, who was viciously banging her typewriter. “You'll smash your machine, Bess—ahem! Miss Richards—if you keep that up.” The young woman stopped, folded her hands and bestowed on Mr Vernon a withering glance from a pair of sapphire blue eyes. “Can't you see I'm busy?" she demanded ominously. “You’ve been here once before to-day. What do you want?" “To talk with you," replied Mr Vernon imperturbably. “One would think I were here for the sole purpose of entertaining people,” Miss Richards remarked sarcastically. “I’ve had to settle two extremely impertinent men already this morning. I beg of you not to make the third." “What did they say to you?” inquired her visitor in a tone which boded no good for them were they in his vicinity. “Oh,” wearily, “one dictated two letters, and on the strength of it asked me to go out driving with him: the other desired my company at luncheon.” “The scoundrels!” growled Mr Vernon savagely.“ Give it up, Bess, andmarry me.” “I don’t know why it is.” continued Miss Richards, declining to take any notice of his offer, “but nine men out of ten, if they bring me one dollar's Worth of work, think they may stay

and bore me for an hour. I he tenth always imagines I’m hungry or pining for a drive." “I really think this play will net you at least twenty," interrupted Mr Vernon, in a blended tone of meekness and mischief, taking a roll of manuscript from his pocket, "and, according to your statement, Bess. I'm liable to bore you for twenty hours. Still, if you prefer the drive or " “Let me see it!” cried Elizabeth eagerly. “Oh. Dave, is it vour new play ? ’ Yes. replied Mr lemon, handing her the manuscript, "but I really wish, my dear girl, you would be more respectful when you address me. My name is David, and, in a public place like this"—with a comprehensive glance around the room which contained only himself and Miss Richards—"l really think it would be more dignified for you to say Mr Vernon." “Oh, bother!” retorted Elizabeth, making a naughty fake. After which expressive remark, she plunged into the manuscript and became utterly oblivious to Mr Vernon's presence. They had met two years before at Cornell. It was Elizabeth's first year and David’s last. He had a sister, who was in her class, and the two girls became very intimate. Naturally the brother came in for his share of attention, and, as naturally, he fell a victim to the charms of his sister's friend. Before the close of the year Elizabeth had to resign all thoughts of a college education. The death of her father and the condition of his affairs made it necessary for her to assume the support of her mother and little brother. She had made herself proficient in stenography be-

Pore entering Cornell, and, for * time, had acted as her father s secretary. On her return home she devoted six weeks to "getting up her speed,” and then opened an office in a newspaper building on F street. David Vernon loomed up once more hi her horizon about a year after she began her stenographic career. His uncle was a well-known Washington lawyer, and he offered to take David into the firm as junior partner. The young man would have preferred a literary career, but the opening was such a good one that he accepted it. It also had the advantage of bringing him nearer to Elizabeth. lie devoted his evenings to the study of literature. however, and already had fame as the author of several charming little comedies. When he learned what Elizabeth was doing and how hard she had to ■work, David, with fine prospects but small salary, asked her to marry him, and Elizabeth laughed. “I'd spoil your career. Dave.” she said; “and if that is not a good reaeon’'—with a glance of amusement — “I have a better. “What is it?” demanded Mr Vernon. “I don't, love you.” she returned. “Besides, you are only twenty-seven, David, and you don’t want to burden yourself with a wife for at least eight years. I’ll be too old then—thirty—and you’ll prefer some young girl.” ••I’ll do no such thing/’ interrupted David eagerly. “I’ve loved you for two years, and I’m going to marry you if I have to wait until you re forty! There isn’t a reason on earth why you can’t love me.” he added, with a touch of indignation; “1 m good-looking, clever ” •'Oh. Dave!”

•‘Well, you’re not going to deny it, are you?” demanded he •'I tell you what. Hess, in five years 1 shall be rich. Then, how nice for you to be Mrs Vernon!” “What a mercenary wretch you must think me! said Elizabeth, with a gleam of mischief in her eyes. “BeIkxing me to be adamant where your ffood looks and cleverness are concerned, you tempt me with riches. For shame, sir. for shame!” But the office door slammed behind him and David was gone. After this first interview. Mr Vernon was a frequent visitor at Elizabeth’s home as well as at her office. <, lo this latter place, however, he solemnly averred that he “only went on business.” He was in no wise discouraged by her refusal of bis first offer of marriage, and continued to propose to her. And Elizabeth continued to refuse. However, she derived much comfort from his society, and in numerous thoughtful. lender little ways he helped to brighten her life. “How many copies do you want?” asked Elizabeth in her most businesslike manner, as she laid the roil of manuscript on her desk. “Two,” responded Mr Vernon promptly. and then added mischievously. “that is. unless you want an extra copy for yourself. Maybe when I'm dead and gone. Elizabeth, it will comfort you to pore over these evidences of ».iie genius your criticism has fostered.”

“More like you will lose your copies and want to borrow mine.” said Elizabeth in the tone of one having experience. Mr Vernon regarded her mournfully. “There isn’t an ounce of sentiment in you.” he remarked.

“Thank heaven there isn't!” replied Richards fervently. You may not realist* it. but sentiment is a dangerous trait for a woman in my position. “Now.” she added teasingly. as she saw the look of disgust creeping over David’s smooth-shaven face, “now, if id been sentimental, Dave, I would doubtless haxe i»ec.n married and divorced several times in the last two years.” “I wish to goodness you’d quit this place,” growled David, gazing at her anxiously. “You grow more tfippant and cynical every day.”

WhoM decipher your miserable chirography if I did?” demanded she archly.

‘Ale could have a machine at home,” he suggested eagerly. Miss kiichsrds laughed. “What a tempting prospect!” she cried gaily. “All your other suggestions have failed to appeal to me. but this one is so brilliant. Dave, I really shall have to consider it!”

Ouee again the door banged violently and the email mistress of the establishment found herself alone. “Never mind, be will be up to the house tonight,” she thought philosophically as she went back to her machine. The day following the stenographic office of Miss Richards was a very busy place. Work had come in, as was often the ease, with a rush, and Elizabeth had to engage another stenographer to assist her. Towards the close of the day, however, she found time to begin David's play. As she proceeded with it her interest grew apace. “It is his best effort,’’ she kept repeating to herself exultantly, while her fingers flew swiftly over the keys, “and it must succeed!” She had just finished the first act when her eyes fell upon a tiny sheet of .gray notepaper which had doubtless slipped between the leaves of the manuscript by accident, and the following in a dainty hand greeted her: — “My Dearest Boy.—l am so sorry not to have seen you Friday night—and so glad that you have gotten over being cross with me. Do come Sunday, and we'll bury the hatchet for good. It was all a mistake, dear, but you must admit I had cause to act as I did—you were seen with her so much.—Ruth.” Elizabeth put her hand to her head in a dazed fashion. So Dave was like all the rest; Dave, whom she had believed to be ail her own And another girl was complaining of his attentions to her—Elizabeth! Dell, tne other girl would have no further occasion to complain so far as she was concerned! hen Mr Vernon called the next day, Miss Richards was taking a speech for Senator Smith. The learned legislator was tramping up and down the little office, talking, it seemed to David, at the rate of 300 words a minute, and gesticulating fiercely. Elizabeth looked up from her notebook and pointed to a roll of papers on her desk. David helped himself and went out. That night when he called at the house Mrs. Richards informed him that Bess had a headache and asked to be excused. He thought nothing of this, but when two or three days had gone by and he failed to' get speech with her, David began to feel both indignant and worried.

“Either Bess is working herself to death, or she's out with me about something,— he thought, as he straightened his cravat, preparatory to making another call on the obdurate damsel.

It was a little early for his visit, so David decided to glance over the manuscript he had obtained from Elizabeth. There was an interrogation point on the sixth page of her copy, and, as this was her method of calling attention to something that was not clear in his language or chirography, he began turning over the original to find the page and make comparison. In doing this he came across the little scented sheet of grey note-paper, and gave vent to a low whistle as he read it. This accounts for Bess' behaviour,” he said aloud; “but who in the name of all that's mysterious is Ruth, and how came that letter in my manuscript ?” A moment later there was a knock at the door, and Charlie Thurston came in. Mr. Thurston was dramatic editor for one of the daily papers, and boarded in the same house with David. “I want that play of yours. Dave,” he said hastily. ‘‘Goodwin has promised to look it over to-night- If he takes it, your fortune is made.” “Let us hope he will take it. then.” said Dave, handing him the manuscript. As he did so the little sheet of grey paper fluttered to the floor. Charlie picked it up. “Where on earth did this come from?” he demanded in astonishment. "I’ve been asking myself the same question for the last ten minutes,” replied Dave, laughing. “Some person or persons unknown put it between the leaves of my play.” The puzzled look on Charlie Thurston's face gave way to a smile. “I hud it on my desk the night I sat up reading your confounded stuff, and it must have slipped in somehow. By the way, old man,” he added after a little pause, “you must congratulate me. Ruth and I are to be married next month.” “Miss Gilmore?” asked Dare in a

surprised tone. “So her name is Ruth, is it? Well, Charlie, here's my hand. You always were a lucky fellow.” A half hour later David waa standing on Mrs. Richards’ steps. The door was unlocked, and he went in. He feared Bess might send word she was not at home if he rang the belt “They are awfully careless about that door,” he said under his breath as he pushed the parlour portieres aside. The room was dark and deserted, and the house-breaker proceeded on his way to the library. In the soft light of the red lamp he saw a little figure curled up on the lounge by the window. “You didn't stay very long, mother,” said a familiar voice. “Nd, I thought you'd be lonesome,” responded Mr. Vernon promptly. Elizabeth sprang to her feet. “Oh, it is you, David?” she said ungraciously. “Yes, it's me,” returned Mr. Vernon forcibly if ungrammatically. "I can’t say, Bess, that you seem overjoyed because of my arrival.” “I don't like people creeping in on me unawares,” replied Miss Richards crossly. “Then 'people' shouldn't refuse to see their friends,” Dave retorted lyThere was an awkward silence. David finally got up and pushed his chair nearer Elizabeth's lounge. “Goodwin has agreed to examine my play,” he remarked. "Charlie Thurston—you've met Charlie —asked him to do it. Thurston sat up the other night until the tve sma’ hours' perusing it. and he says he’s certain Goodwin will take it.” ”1 am sure I hope you will be successful," was Miss Richards' polite rejoinder. David eyed her mischievously. “By the way, Bess, did you ever meet Ruth

Gilmore?” he inquired innocently. The colour flamed in her face. “No, why do you ask?” “Nothing, only she's just promised to marry Charlie, and I wondered if you knew her.” A long silence followed this interesting news item. Then Dave left his chair and seated himself on the sofa. “Say you’re ashamed of yourself, Bess,” he whispered as he slipped his arm around her waist. “I am dreadfully ashamed,” she answered, softly. And Dave looking into her eyes saw something that he had never seen there before. “But this doesn't mean that 1 am going to marry you now,” said Elizabeth a few moments later. ' You must remember that I have responsibilities, David, and you may have to wait for me as long as Jacob did for Rachael.” “I’ll do no such thing,’’ replied Mr Vernon with emphasis. “I'll give you just six months to settle your important business matters, so you had better get accustomed to the idea.” Elizabeth shook her head. “We'll decide that later,” she said, smiling, and Dave, who loved her proud, independent ways, wisely forbore any further discussion of the subject that evening. “1 reckon I’ve proposed to you seventy times seven,” he remarked later as he was bidding her good night, "but you haven't told me yet, Bess, what induced you to even agree to accept me in the far-off future.” Elizabeth laughed mischievously. “It was your suggestion that I could continue to pound my typewriter as Mrs Vernon,” she replied saucilv. “Really, Dave, dear, no girl in my profession could withstand an offer so tempting as that!” This time David didn’t slam the door; he kissed Elizabeth instead.