Pittston Gazette

              Oldest Newsoaoer in the Wvomine Vallev EitiblUhod 1850. I VOL. XLIX Mo. 3. ) PITTSTON, LUZERNE COUNTY, PA., FRIDAY, SEPTEflBER 2, 1898. A Weekly Local and Family Journal. jai.OO a Iiu In Advance. with tier aua tried to interest her in the intricacies of baseball, aiid David Temple, the editor iu chief, who, unlike many of bin compeers, worked hard, bringing with him an assuranoe of well bred ease and a capability for exertion and endurance. uncle, dear, and the man at the corner sends iu such good chops. I put on a blouse and dream over my coffee, while Nora in the kitchen sings Irish melodies in an adorable voice and with a creamlike brogue." ent, although most masculine in the gentleness coming from a consciousness of his own strength. It seems to me as if a woman oould never fill bis many sided life. There are men bom with the love of woman in their being, and it grows with their growth. To possess it too strenuously weakens a character and often perverts what should be a reverence into a taste. To possess it with a separateness from the other interests of life suggests the laok of some vital and spiritual fiber. I've felt this with David. If he ever marries, it will be beoause his intellect suggests it as wise or because his physical nature is enslaved. The two will scarcely blend." "li-very oetaii," he anded, "snows witn the accuracy of a photograph—the blue in the shirts of those laborers, the brown of the trench, the violet green of that bit of grast-, the flags in the blue air. Are you going to walk?" he asked abruptly. quent course and met in a labyrinth flickered. The horror faded Into a passionate cry which, though unuttered, shook her whole being. David among the injured) David faraway, not strong and controlling, but lying in voiceless pain under the sullen sky I They said, "Injured fatally." Perhaps it meant dying, perhaps it meant dead. Dead! The word seemed to take her by the throat, bold her, look into her eyes, deep into her heart and laugh at what it saw there. Nothing in the past mattered beside the rioh truth that David bad been her friend, nothing in tbe future beside the craving to touch him and hear bim speak her name once more. She knew in a revealing blaze the secret of her heart that before she had not even dimly understood. Unconsciously she prayed as she sat there staring into the vacuity of tbe window. "Save him I I love bim, I love him, I love him!" "A Circlc in the Sand," Anne looked at the clock. It was after 10. The pencil dropped from ber fingers and she pulled the shade from above her tired eyes. Since 7 she had been writing in a race against time, and now, her work completed, she was tingling with fatigue. the brakeman swung In, a red lantern in bis hand. As be stood in tbe doorway, tbe spray driving against his crouched shoulders, the bloody blotch of light against bis rain soaked clothes, be seemed a figure of doom, as if tbe misery, cold and death rampant there had takon human form and entered, orying in boarse accents: BY She laid her finger under his chin and looked into his eyes. Her surroundings were ao strange that Anne often wondered If it were indeed she who was there, the lonely girl who iu the well stocked library of a silent country house had written most of the "specials" which had commanded attention. "Yes; there's such a good breeze." "If you've no objection, I'll walk with you." Jordan,  "But when you do come, you dear, cynical creature, I shelve dreams gladly and don't care a pin for Nora's songs. Satisfied?" It was the 1st of November. The summer, unlike any other of her life, seemed far away. Made up of dusty, feverish days and happy nights, it was past, like a sleep. Through the window before her she could see the fog dripping over the city, a curtain of sootiness, its folds breaking on the angles of bouses, the lights of the town white splashes on the haze. The world looked sullen, as if choked under that sooty pall into submission and silenoe. And yet none knew better than she, sitting aloft among the chroniclers, of the snarl among the unhappy, of the turmoil and crime seething there, and the ambition which spared no brother for the uprising of self. A pulse of exultation quickened iu Anne's heart as they went up the swarming street, David adapting his steps to hers. "Piatt's Peak colliery!" Author of "The Kiss of (Jold," "The Other House," etc., etc. Anne's dreaming fell from ber like a cloak shruggetf from uneasy shoulders, and she sprang up, her faoe bright with sudden energy. She hurried away to change ber gown, and Dr. Ericsson was left alone in the dusk. He listened in a dreamy way to the maid crossing and recrossing the rug covered floor, hiB arms hung by his sides, his eyes were fastened on a trail of smoke diminishing in the sunset. [Copyright 1NS»8, by the Author. | While the clatter of the presses and the unaccustomed tread of life were in her ears she would close her eyes and summon a vision of a different scene and time: A hollow at the foot of a hill where a great pool lay and willow branches like green lengths of disheveled hair trailed in the water; a girl, herself, the Anne Garriok who was dead never to rise again, lying at full length under the trees, her obeek upon an open book, the fragrance of a lost land around her, the whir of unseen wings, the fireflies in the black gloom under the uedars, or flashing like uneasy eyes from the oonfusion of ripe grass, the sound of water pushing its way through twisted weeds with a coquettish whimper like silk rubbed on silk. "Tell me," he said curiously, "what Dr. Ericsson thinks of your independent spirit." On Dr. Ericsson's arm she plunged through the blaok nigbt to the railway station. This was little more than a shed over a flooring and supported by begrimed posts. It was dark save for tbe yellow rays from a small window opening into a boxlike honse where two telegraph operators sat, the beat of tbe machines stealing into tbe shadow like tbe clucking of a tongue. "Yes, he suggests all you say. By the way, who is Donald Sefain—his stepbrother?" "He takes it entirely for granted." "Oh. Mr. Temple," she said with sudden earnestness, "I don't feel that way about it. I want to be a journalist." "I am behind the times, I suppose," be said, with a short laugh. "Well, I can't help it. I don't like the independent woman. Oh, she has virtues! But when woman loses her inconsistency and self doubt she loses ber chimii." CHAPTKK L Thirty years before, then a young Swede newly arrived in America for a bout with fortune, he had married the sister of Anne's mother. They had settled in New York, and by degrees he became successful and rioh. His wife was a beauty, his children's future bright, and life went well. But trouble came. His children, with the exception of Olga, the youngest, died during schooldays, his fortune intrusted to false friends went to help their speculations and was lost. Mow, in old age, he was a physician of reputation, but poor, possessing a fashiouably inclined wife, whose weekly letters from Paris, Where she had eleoted to live when Olga's schooldays in Switzerland were over, were wearying longings for the vanished wealth. His daughter was almost a stranger to him. She had gone away a child, she was now a woman of 30. What sort of a woman, evolved by her mother's worldliness aud a false system of education, he hesitated to consider. His life was spent in the depleted family mansion on Waverly place with one old servant, amid furniture masked in gTay holland and portraits of his lost children blinking through gauze sheetings. Only bis patients aud friends had prevented him from becoming like the piano in the corner, which had almost forgotten how to vibrate. The offloe boy stood beside David Temple's desk, a slip of paper on whiuh ■ name was written in his hand. He knew better than to interrupt the editor when his pen was racing in that aggressive way, so he stood Angering the bit of pink paper with grimy fingers while speculatively regarding a fly running unmeaning races from a cloudy ftiap of the United States-*® the big ink bottle occupying the center of a very uttidy desk. "Oh, have you seen him?" "This afternoon. His face haunted me all the way home." David felt a desire to know her a little better, to hear her views and then dismiss them successfully. He had still 15 minutes to spare. He began to think she was very pretty. "I see you have Vaudel's 'Desert Monk' on your shelf. You've read it. The pictures are Donald Sefain's. Fine, aren't they? I half believe he made tbem just to show what he oould do, and then from 'ouwednins' Dong down bis pen. He'a done no Berious work since." "She needn't. If she's in earnest and loves it, why shouldn't she work and live alone as I do"— A man stood looking in. When be swung around, Anne found herself faoe to faoe with Donald Sefain. They bad geen each other constantly without reoognitfos *Jbd without axobanging a word. Tbe meeting there under tbe circumstanoea was a trifle perplexing. Donald's expression was almost forbidding as he awkwardly pulled off bis cap. "Miss Garrick, I believe?" "Have you ever been on a paper?" "But you live with your uncle, don't It had been a day of extraordinary climaxes. A murder in high places had horrified the city. The political struggle was hurrying to a crisis. The latest telegrams told of disastrous floods in one state and a strike of many thousand miners in another. CHAPTER VI. "No, although I've written a great deal," she said while watching hiy* in tently. "I thought I might get something to do regularly—some position. I know I'd suooeed. I wish you'd try me." you?" Dear Miss Gabrick—Your breezy letter came like a voice from the outside world into the solitude of my sickroom. I am maah better. Is * week or two I'll be myself again. The consequenoes of the aocident are a treacherously dizzy brain, a bandaged shoulder and head and a great weariness of everything under the sun. Your request stupefies me. I never heard of such reckless courage. Fancy you out among the miners in these t4mes of bloodshed. Do you know what it means t 1 can imagine what you will say. Tou are a student of life, and a reading of selected pasgages will not content you. However, we won't tear this subject to shreds again. "No. I am much more comfortable as I am. I came here sure of a small income. I earn that sum twice over now, I live alone, and I'm writing a book." "Do tell me about him," and Anne, leaving the table, wheeled a low armchair to Dr. Ericsson's knee. The day was breathless and humid. From the earliest hours of the morning the sun's rays had swept the streets like destroying glances from a malevolent eye. The dusty, ink spattered offices of the New York Citizen were stifling. Beyond the open windows oould be seen sun baked roofs, spires and chimneys awatbed in a hot mist Every man in the editorial rooms was m bis sbirt sleeves. Some bad discarded moist collars. All were working hard. "No, I can't," he said almost brusquely, "and I hope you'll change your mind and try something else. Besides I haven't anything I could offer you, nothing a woman oould do—much too difficult. You take my advice and try something else." Some suatch of a street song, the exciting news of the last murder or the clangor of Trinity's bell would frighten these imaginings, and despite her pagan love of nature she would return to work, happy that the old life of solitude and reverie was over. "It's a bit of a story. Can you reach me a match? Thauk yon, my dear. This is very cozy." He sat back aud half closed bis eyes. "When David Temple was about 15, his father, as hard and steru a man as ever lived, married a Frenchwoman, a widow with a boy of 6. Some people know and a great many snspect there never was a Mr. Sefain, aud the boy Donald was as surely John Temple's son as David, for whom he'd have cut out his eyes: he loved him so. V?ell, Mrs. Sefain was a beautiful woman, an adventuress with the manners of a duchess. I never saw her in a brocade dress without thinking how well she'd look on one of those little pompadour fans, all covered with roses and things. Donald is the picture of her. I think his eyes and smile—the latter too rare, God help him—would glorify a plain face into beauty. After five years of the most absolutely perfect marital misery Donald's mother died, and he was left in old John Temple's care. It was a hard fate. " "Really." As a result there were tonight more striking of bells and dragging sound of hurrying feet than were usual even during the exciting hours just previous to the paper going to press. There was expectancy on the absorbed faces. Unrest hung in the air like a stormcloud. They continued in silence, and tben David looked at her squarely. "How are you, Donald?" cried Dr. Ericsson, stepping into the light "I haven"t seen you for an age." And be seised him by the shoulder. "I am thinking what an amazing gulf lies between you and your greatgrandmotber. Wouldn't she scold you if she could come back? Wouldn't she, though?" Of course you know that from a mercantile standpoint your report of the strike, your description of the life of the women In that hopeless place, would be moat valuable to the paper, and, if you still wish to go, please, for friendship's sake, ask Dr. Erlosson to go with you. 1 will write to him too. About the stories. Don't go into the Intricacies of the strike. Tell th«? women's story in a woman's way. I'll feature them in the half weekly and Sunday editions. Sefain, whom you have seen in the office, la there now. I'll instruct him to illustrate your stories, and, as he does excellent work, too, they ought to make a hit. The relief fund which has been started will be forwarded to you for distribution. After all these Instructions I urgently add—don't go. Faithfully, "Oh, I'm all right!" be said indifferently. "You'll have to walk to the botel. The cab service ia very deficient here. We've all got to live like paupers whether we like ft or not." "I think I know what you mean," and she stood up. "You think this work hardly feminine"— David talked to her very little and never about anything save work. She watched hiin and found him curiously interesting. Other men were more or less of a familiar type, bnt David Temple was individual. A nascent force marked his lightest action. To be near him was like coming within the radius of a powerful electric current. After a week's absence David Temple was momentarily expected. He had wired to suspend any arrangements regarding the assignment of reporters to the scene of the strikes until his arrival. While the usual rontine of making the paper went on the men were waiting for him. "I dare say," said Anne placidly, "but I wouldn't approve of my greatgrandmother, nor of my grandmother either." He nodded. She looked disappointed, but unconvinced. He harried ahead, the effort of being conventionally polite evidently a new role. David Temple laid down hia pen and Rlanoed over the hastily written page, hia expression determined. "That'll make them hum," be said, and without looking up he touched the bell, at the aarne instant becoming aware of the boy beside him. "And you're afraid of encouraging incompetence?'* David threw back his head as a boy does before a shout of laughter, corrected himself and looked at her with weighty seriousness. "Oh, no, really, I"— "I'll show yon the way,"he said brusquely. "Yes, I think you are. Well, I'll tell you just the way 1 feel about it I must be a journalist"— Anne was waiting for him too. A trembling anticipation swept over her as she fancied him coming through the open door. He would bring restfulness into the confusion, a visible power to the handling of the several problems, and it would be good to see him again. "I my, Donald"—and Dr. Erioasou't| tone was just as genial as when be bad first spoken—"are things very bad?" Donald's stormy eyes flashed from beneath the rim of bis cap. His tone was almost insolent. She had always liked clean shaved meu. They seemed a degree farther from the idea of the ancestral monkey than their bewhiskered brothers. David was clean shaved, spare of flesh, strongly built. There was unity in his simple name, stern face, searching gray eyes and the practical surroundings in which he worked. Back of his desk the bound volumes of The Citizen for a generation were somberly heaped. Electric wires and buildings of granite were visible beyond the window near whioh he sat. The man and his mission were melodic. "Really, impertinence couldn't go further." " Why must you?" "Here yon are. Take this down, Pete, just as fast as yon oan. Eh? What's this? Some one to see me? All right Tell them to wait Come backut once." "Because I know I'm fitted for it, and the life attracts me. I might have preferred to be a painter or a musician, bnt we are not allowed to select onr talents." She smiled and moved a step away. "If you can't employ me, there's nothing more to be said about it, and I'm sorry having detained yon. But— somebody else will employ me. I've only been in New York a month, and you're the first editor I've seen. This will explain why Dr. Ericsson suggested my ooming to yon. I showed it to him." Anne's smile was both naive and speculative as she continued: David Tkmflb. This letter was held closely in Anne's fiand, hidden under the folds of her traveling cloak, as the train carried bar over the bills of Pennsylvania. Dr. Eriosson had closed his eyes upon the gloominess of his surroundings and fallen asleep upon the opposite seat She was free to think uninterruptedly, her eyes upon the long lines of windows curtained with mist and irisated with raindrops, the reaches of land patched with melting snow, the smoke from infrequent cottages struggling in the dampness and vanishing groundward as if affrighted. But he knew what a home might be Dince Anne came to New York. He was deeply fond of her, wholly in sympathy with her. His gaze wandered to a shadowy pastel on the wall before him where her deep eyes were touched by the sunset's fire. It seemed to tell bim much. Hers had been a stern, starved girlhood up to the present year. After college days and between the ages of 20 and 23 she had been chained to the bedside of an invalid father, her life a strain when it was not stagnation, unused energy fretting her heart, what tbould have been the sunniest period of her life drifting by in shadow. "My grandmothers had no spirit, no originality, went in for artistic fainting and wrote silly love rhymes-. They were as savorless as oatmeal without salt, those admirable, chimney corner women. Their husbands thought nothing of crying 'Tush' at them, aud they tusbed' beautifully. Ob, they wouldn't be at all popular today." "Hell is loon h*re," he said. He picked np the paper, the kind in uae in the office, bearing the directions: "Name . State business." "Anne Oarrick" was written in lead penoil upon it The latter request was unheeded."He ought to be here now," said Jack Braidley, strolling over to her desk. "I hope he'll let meoutof Piatt's Peak. I don't want that assignment. Starving miners are not much in my [TO Bit CONTINUED.] Poetry sad Meter. "Why? He didn't like him?" way." Fortunately most modern oritics leave Milton unread, if not unwritten of, and hence they are not called upon to essay the dangerous, nay desperate, task of getting an iambio scansion oot of such lines as— David laid it down, lit a cigar aDd went over to the window. It was a still, maddening day; the horses toiled between their shafts; the springs of life moved wearily even on Park row. He looked at bis watch. It was half past 4. At 0 be was doe at the Players' to dine with an actor who by means of a haunting voice and a pair of fine eyes enjoyed an income that equaled the vice president's. He had promised to go to a danoe on board a yacht anchored in the sonnd. He began to wish be could escape the latter and instead find his way to the hammock on bis roof top, where be could smoke under the stars. At 36, with hair whitening, he was getting past dances. "Like him? He hated him as only an intolerant, conscientious man oan bate. Donald was a constant reproach to bim and a reminder of his married unbappiness. He never let David be friends with him, never. You see, Donald hadn't a fair chance. He was a lonely little soul." "I thought not," said Anne dryly, gathering together the copy beaded "The Sunday Page," whioh during the present stress she edited. "I never saw yon look as happy as the day you were sent out to inspect and describe the Duke of Stockbury's wedding clothes when be oaine over to marry the sugar refiner's daughter. They were in your line." Anne was slowly drawing on her gloves one evening when the reporter with the scarred face laid down bis cigar and asked a question of nobody in particular. "But you are not a new woman?" said David with some awe. "No," and the denial was uncompromising. "I hate the new woman. You bave not classified uie correctly. I hope I am the awakened woman." She drew a letter from her pocket and handed it to David. He was surprised to see the beading of "The Citizen" on the sheet, his own handwriting beneath it. It was written to a man named Robert Heron and directed to a small Bhode Island town. "Shook the arsenal and fulmined over Greece." "Suffering, abstaining, quietly expecting." "Fairer than feigned of old or fabled since." "Burnt after them to the bottomless pit." "Any of yon fellows know where Donald Sefain has bidden himself this time?" "Why didn't he set his teeth and make something of himself?" said Anne with the defianoe of a champion. "I never heard of her before." Ten commonplace days and nights had paused since sudden grief like a flame had illumined her heart and set before her eyes its hopeless, passionate burden. When her father died, .she had found herself wholly orphaned |nd free to plan her future according to her tastes. She bad a small income, a thorough education and the talent of being able to write with splendor and force of whatever she felt deeply. The controlled yearnings for freedom had grown into one desire, and she had gratified it The old home was rented, and like a foung David entering the oamp of the Philistines she had come to New York. Three things she bad determined on— to live alone, work, fill her days with Impressions of life, fling away books and study men and women. "Well, I'll tell you something about ber. Without retaining the womanliness of the clinging heroine of the past and without feeling to a sensible extent a desire for progress she could not exist. She is the result of extremes past and present." It must not for a moment be supposed that these lines are instances of Milton's carelessness. On the contrary, whether right or wrong, they are the deliberate results of a highly conscious art Milton wrote the lines because they specially pleased his ear. not because be bad forgotten for the moment the tune "de dnm, de dum." When, then, our critics fall foul of onr modern poets because their lines will not scan—by which they mean scan iambically—they The name attracted her, and she found herself waiting for the reply. "Oh, I say, you do chaff a fellow horri bly! But seriously, I'm playing for the dramatio critic's place. Jove, fanoy calling that work—every pretty actress smiling at you pleadingly! I was made for it. By the way, Miss Garrick, why don't you go on the stage? Beastly work this for a pretty girl!" "Ah, that's what he should have done exactly! But he didn't. Instead, at 20, after leaving John Temple's house he went from bad to worse. His face today bears scars of the odds against him. He's a failure. I tried to get near bim, but he wouldn't let me be his friend. It is one of bis perversities to affect the poor and mingle with the unfortunate. Anything prosperous inspires ■ morbid dislike in bim; all that's deformed, shunned; all that lies in shadow finds favor in his sight. He's a strange and silent creature, drinking feverishly, cultivating his worst instincts, finding an unreasonable satisfaction in offering himself as a sacrifice to the discontent instilled into him through the circumstances of his life." "Yon know Heron?" he asked qnick- "O Lord, it's too warm to think of Sefain'a vagaries! He's probably trying tenement honse life again with some of his slain friends while a penny remains. When he's broke, he'll come back and work for another spurt," the society editor replied with fine unconoern. Sinoe then she had been nnqniet; the happiness of knowing David's injury would not be serious mixed with a curious disinclination to see him again and t sense of defeat It appeared unconformable that this love should have unexpectedly awakened within ber when she had thought herself too proud and strong. It seemed as if her senses bad lightly succumbed to the potency of environment as if passion were a mere impulse, and the man treading the same path with her a man to love, not the man her soul had irresistibly sought and found. "Yes. Yon like his work, it seems." "Very much," he Baid in a mystified voice. "I don't as a rule seek 'specials' outside, but bis were so trenchant, bo brilliantly phrased, so exactly what we wanted, I couldn't help, yoa see, writing to ask the cause of his long silence. Most of his work of whatever sort has commanded attention here. Now, there's a man," said David enthusiastically and in the final tone which closes an argument, "I sometimes wish had the ambitiou and spirit of the woman of today. He's wasting his time in a small place doing desultory work, a dreamer I dare say, an idler too. We need men like him here. I wish you'd tell him so," he smiled. "Many of her?" "She's everywhere. Her privileges are so many she's busy enjoying them. There's little said about ber, but every one wbo thinks knows she is the woman of today." "The young lady"— oommenoed Pete timidly at his elbow. "Fool! Flinging himself away! He won't last long." Anne was not listening to him. Leaning ber elbow on the back of the chair, her hand curved like a cup to support her chin, she was looking at Donald Sefain, who had just come in. are making an error in criticism andattacking Milton and the Elizabethans also. What they should attack is want of melody, not want of the iambio fall. The question is, Is the ear pleased? not Does the line go by a rule, which, after all, is not really the rule? No doubt many modern poets in their struggle to get away from conventionality use -blank verse forms whioh are lioentious without being harmonious, and they are of course to be corrected for such faults. Let us, however, never condemn a poet merely because his verse is not as strictly iambio in structure as Dr. Johnson's "Irene." It is part of a poet's business to be perpetually trying to increase the scope and power of the measures be uses. It is better to fail every now and again in such an attempt than to keep always the beaten track of a conventional and well worn prosody.— London Spectator. "Oh, there is a lady. I'd forgotten. Show ber in,"and be slipped on the alpaca ooat lying across the chair. "D'yon know what I'd do if I were in Temple's place and had such a precious bundle of sbiftlessness, unconoern and surliness for a so called brother"— Her earnestness made her face strangely lovely, aud the thought prompted David's next words. The swinging door was pnsbed back, and Anne Garrick oame toward him. She seemed in the first inattentive glance tall, slenderly made, ber face showing marks of care or illuess, yet pretty enough to be interesting. Her uym were long, very bright, yet soft, and they were a deep brown, like her hair. Her gown was of mourning cloth, and she wore a black sailor bat There be was, shabby, silent, a recluse among the alert crowd. The discontent in his worn eyes, his hopeless but unconquered air, seemed now as always like a minor, passionate phrase woven unfittingly into the flourishes of a hackneyed tune. "H'tu! There isn't much doubt about what you'd do." "Does she like to be pretty?" When the maid appeared with canlies, Anne followed her, a bowl of roses in her hands. The newspaper woman in levere, collared gown was gone, and in her place was an exquisite creature akin to the flowers and the starry lights. Her shoulders and arms gleamed through a gauzy black bodice. A modish knot showed the fine abundance of her hair. One rose was fastened at her bosom, where it flamed in splendid warmth. "She delights in it. She's not only a good cbum with men or a plaything or an intellectual machine; she's a woman," she said, aud there was music in the word. "She believes that marrying the man she loves—and she can't love the weak, the stupid, the hopelessly oorrupt—is the culmination of the pur- "Kick him out" And the society editor fingered his imperial tenderly. And yet something within her after all reasoning insisted on being beard. It had an eostatio voice and gave its own golden meaning to the dtJk day. She seemed drawn to David by a warm, strong hand, and the delight of yielding sent a feeling of sublime weakness over ber as comes to one wearied who slips the will and sinks to sleep. It was a happy fanoy and hid the meager land under the hurrying twilight from her sight "I think he hates Temple more every day," said Jack Braidley, the reporter who "matched." "He's an idea he's one too many in the world, I fancy." "I don't understand why he's on The Citizen with David Tempi a. " She wondered if she would ever know him, ever learii just what sinuosities of character, what experiences, bad made hiui the creature be was. This wish had begun to tiuge her days. Nothing, however, seemed more unlikely. They had not exchanged a word. He held aloof from her as from every one else. Anne's eyes were perversely girlish as she said simply: "Oh, he simply does work for that as well as a few other papers! He's brimful of talent. David employs him as he would a stranger and pays him for what work he turns in. He's seldom in the office.'' The words were hardly spoken when the door opened and a man came iu. From the hash greeting his entranoe Anne knew it was Donald Sefain. She looked at him attentively. David drew a chair forward for her, and amting himself opposite let his great shoulders rest easily, while he regarded her, aa was his fashion, through half veiled eyes. "I'm Robert Heron, Mr. Temple." The advent of a woman in the editorial rooms of The Citizen was no longer tbe latest topic there. Anne bad been one of tbe staff for a fortnight CHAPTER H. Dr. Ericsson looked at her critically. She was more than pretty; sbe was imperfectly lovely, or, rather, beautiful without fulfilling conventtonal canons. During quiet moments ber face was serene aud alluring, the duqk hair upon the pale brow like banded velvet, tba liquid brown eyes poetically thoughtful, the luoutb appealing. Softness, strength and color were all there. But in action aud expression lay ber strongest charm. When the lips smiled, the eyes lightened and the small, delicate bands, as restless as a Frenchwoman's, emphasized ber words; Anne was irresistible.There were unmistakable marks of vagabondism about him—his dusty clothes, churlish manner, long, untidy hair. He was of moderate height and (lender build, he carried his shoulders poorly and bla eyes were sunken. But for all this his dark, foreignTace, sneering, secretive, defiant, was startlingly handsome as he stood in tbe red, wash tones of the sunset pounng through the dusty windows. The clock struck tt, and Dr. Ericsson start-d up. "Look at that beast Sefaiu," mattered Braidley. "Misa Oarrick?" he said, glancing at tbe slip. "What can I do for you? You'll pardon me if I tell you now I have a dinner engagement at 6 and have only a few moments to spare." Dr. Ericsson gave his body a chilly shake and roused himself, opening one eye querulously and then the other. "Good heavens! And a sick man not a mile away is waiting for me!" He got into bis coat, kissed her and hurried away. "Why do you call him that?" And Anne turned sharply upon him. "Look at his clothes." "They're not like the Duke of Stockbury s, are they?" She had gone with a reputation already made, which she must continue to sustain. Every nerve had been strained to do this, and she had suooeeded. All other impressions had been lost sight of iu this one purpose. The rush and pressure of life around her, the strange scenes and faces, the new routiue, seemed tbe fabrio of a dream world where she was the intensely vital figure. "You'll regret taking me as a traveling companion, my dear. How long bave I been asleep?" This was said with one of David's confidential smiles. She carried the bowl of roses from the table to the mautel aud stood for a moment with her hands upon them, a look of disquietude in her eyes. She was thinking of Donald Sefain. Collecting m Crowd. "Besides be drinks. I saw him drnnk once in thiB very room. It was last spring, I think. His eyes were frightful that day. I expected to have a good itary about bis suicide next morning. But fellows like him never kill themselves."'' For hoars. We'll get to Piatt's Peak in time for dinner." Clark and Randolph streets. A man stopped at the corner and looked intently upward. His gaze appeared to be directed at the roof of a tall building direotly opposite. Two men stopped and began to look in the same direction. A moment later several others joined them. Business men hurrying along the sidewalk on the way to their offloes or stores were seized with like curiosity and stopped short to gaze with the others. "I shan't keep you long," she said, leaning forward. "Dr. Ericsson, my wale, sent me to you." Anne cleared away a spot on the glass with her finger and gazed at the blankness beyond. "You'll be hungry, poor dear, won't yon?" "Oh, yes. How is he? I've not seen him for a month." He looked at Anne with Bome surprise in his glance, his expression questioning; then he became indifferent, nodded curtly to the men and sat down at a corner desk. From his attitude one would have supposed he was sketching or writing. As she passed him to tbe door she saw his fingers were motionless, his wide open eyes introspective. CHAPTER IV. "He's very well, thank yon." A fresh, bright afternoon, a vagrant from spring coming between stretches of torrid heat "Dinner? Be thankful if we get doughnuts and cabbage or pork and fried bread. I know these plaoes," he grunted. "You don't know what you've run into, young lady. I warned you. I might bave saved my 'breath." "So yon oome on business from him?" and David breathed freely. "Do you know, Mias Garrick, I was afraid you were here aa an applicant for work on the paper?" Although her working boors were short, tbe continued effort and oppressive beat bad given her face a wan touch. But she felt no fatigue. On the contrary she was aware of the satisfaction arising from fulfillment. This niche in the dnsty, metallic world where a great newspaper was made was tbe only thing she had craved. To prove herself worthy its possession was the single aim of her life. David Temple had hesitated to engage ber because she was a woman. He had told ber she would soon weary. She must prove hia prophecy false. Thia was tbe impetus that made ber bold. Tbe result was gratifying. "I am going to give you a summer dinner," sbe said, ber fingers lingering amoug the rosea Anne moved away and stood near Prawley's desk, just as Donald went up to him. The stone ball leading from the editorial rooms to the stairs was deserted as David Temple stepped from bis office. He could bear voices and laughter through half opened doors, the din from the streets and shrieking from factory whistles sounding at that height like the growing howl of a mob. When be turned the corner, be saw Anne Oarrick, ber hand upon the brass sarollwork around tbe elevator. Sbe looked tired and very young. "You'd be near Nirvana if that could satisfy you. Nora, bring tbe soup," she added iu a purposely practical tone as sbe seated herself. "Nothing but roses?" "I want to do the pictures for the Piatt's Peak strike," she heard him say in his surly, indifferent tone. "So I am," abe aaid, ber eyes amnsed. "la it qnite useless?" "Fancy being able from actual experience to describe the pangs of hunger," said Anne, with a laugh. "What's the matter?" "What is it?" "What's the exoitement?" These questions flew from lip to lift but nobody seemed able to answer. While the room contained a dozen men it was evident Donald Sefain woald be left alone with his mnsings. He had withdrawn from the others as if from habit. Even before she had passed into the hall they seemed to have forgotten his existence. "Mr. Temple attends to that, "said Frawley, strolling over to watoh tbe telegrams coming in like mad. "Yon mean yon really want newspa- I i ttr,: i if They were like children together. Anne listened attentively as sbe led the old man on to philosophize of life as be saw it. Sbe told him of ber newspaper work, its newness, its delight, of tbe novel sbe bad oommenced and bow sometimes she rose at dead of nigbt to make a note of an idea or a phrase, of all her faiths, dreams and prejudices. To bim she was piteously youthful. To her he was old, wise and weary. He had settled all with destiny. Sbe was buokling on her armor. It seemed that tbe heart be bad lost throbbed in ber bottom. He longed that the impossible might be made possible and sbe might keep it forever so, valiant, free, happy. "Don't madden me. I've arrived at the age when I respect a good dinner as much as anything on earth. As the irreproachable bourgeois said at the pantomime when the ballet appeared, 'I wish I hadn't came.' " David with tome awe. £ose for wbicb she was created. She's not iguorant of the existence of evil, but it has not tempted nor hardened her. But best of all, she's not a paragon. Her aspirations are high aud good, her faults alluring. Now you know my ideal." "But you art nut a iiew womuiif" said "But I can't wait to see him unless he comes within five minutes. I wish you'd tell him I'd like to go to Piatt's Peak. I don't suppose there'll be a rush for the place anyway." "Move on, here I" exclaimed a policeman. "What are youse blockin up the walk for?" Bot the crowd was too big to be dispersed by a single policeman. Three miles lay between tbe offices of The Citizen and the trio of rooms Anne had rented and furnished during the six weeks of her residence in New York. They were in a low, red brick house divided from the street by a patch of grass and iron palings. The neighborhood had Washington square for its nucleus, tbe only part of the money making town preserving the mossy tone of Knickerbocker days, where occasional low doorsteps and spindle legged banisters keep the costumes and manners of the oentury's infancy clear iu the memory. CHAPTER III. A protest leaped into David's heart He bad sometimes experienoed tbe same feeling for a oity child contentedly threading beads in the gutter, a wish to transplant it to something more happy, to a meadow where breeze, sunlight and leafage were a symphony. At tbe thought a grim smile twitched his lips. Miss Garrick was weary of peace and loved the treadmill work in tbe noisy world. She had told bim so. "D d fussy about bis minutes for a beggar," thought Frawley, but answered in a colorless voioe, "All right " " You're in a vile humor today," said Anne placidly. "I'm not." Matters of social and moral importance started out vividly during the terrible summer weather. The handling of some of these was assigned to Anne. It would seem that David Temple bad decided to take ber cruelly at ber word and treat ber as a man or as if be bad wished to force an evidence of affright or weakness from her. He was mistaken. Anne was a soldier's daughter. Best of all, she was oonfldent of her right to be there. Robert Heron bad never done better work than came from her pen during that fortnight. "Say I" asked the officer, forcing his way to the center of the throng and grabbing the man io the gray overcoat, "what are youse all lookin at?" Donald slouobed over to bis desk and picked up bis bat. He bad neared tbe door when Frawley, peering over the operator's shoulder at the wire, uttered a cry. "Of course you're not; you're a woman. You've had your way and you've made some one miserable, so there you are," he jerked out, a smile in bis eyes. "But truly," he added in adifferent tone, "I had a letter from your aunt this morning which annoyed me very much. They'll be back some time in January." By the time ber home was reached they were very well acquainted. Anne felt herself come very near tbe gentlest side of David's nature as sbe gave him ber band. He clasped it earnestly as be looked into her untroubled eyes. "I'm not looking at anything," replied the other, without lowering his head. "I've got a stiff neck, and I always carry my head this way. I stopped to rest a minute. I don't know what these darned chumps are doing here." "Good God!" Consternation and suspense fell upon tbe-plaoe. It was as if a full beart bad "New York is dead in summer time," he said irrelevantly. "All one's friends away ! So few people one cares to talk to anyway 1" "I suppose you know David Temple very well by this time?'' he asked. "Have you rung?" he said, reaching ber side. ■1 9 ■ ■ "But you'll surely be glad to see them." And the crowd melted silently away. —Chicago Tribune. "You'd be surprised if you knew how seldom he has spoken to me," she said, resting familiarly on her elbow. "He sometimes seems a marvelously constructed machine instead of a man. He works so hard. He seems able to attend to 20 things at onoe." "Yes, but there's some delay below," said Anne, peering down. An unreasoning sense (if gladness filled Anne. Sbe knew he was waiting for ber to speak. 1'Oh, fundamentally of course I But there's the house to be renovated—not good enough as it is. And I am made distinctly aware that Olga is to be brought here on a husband hunting skirmish. Foreigners evidently have been given up as hopeless. My beautiful daughter has no money, you see." Too Ii "I'll emphasize the fact that the editor and one of tbe best writers on Tbe Citizen are waiting." A flash of humor came into bis eyes and he kept his finger upon tbe bell until its vibrations awoke echoes in tbe shaft. It was no use, and David looked distressed. A curious illustration of the journalistic imaginativeness carried to a high development was bad in a dispatch to a city paper from its correspondent in a southern city. He was telegraphing some facts in the local history of the late Ensign Bagley, slain in battle at Cardenas. ' He was," telegraphed the correspondent, "in his twenty-third year and was tlw first offioer to fall in the Spanish-American war. His grandfather was the first man shot in the Mexican war in 1846, and his father, a major In the Confederate service, was the first man slain in the conflict between the north and south. Thus history repeats itself." This read very smoothly to the night editor, who gathered these interesting details under a striking headline and sent it up. The eye of the managing editor on his proofs noted the interim that must have occurred between the death of the major and the birth of the son, and he prevented history from repeating itself.— Philadelphia Times. When she had defended her position and won, there came a lull, and without seemiug to watch she absorbed a knowledge of the people around her and noticed what events and oolorings go to make up existence in a newspaper offioe. Anne loved the queer street, the venerable church opposite, with its unfashionable parishioners and sweet tonguod bell, the amethyst light stealing across tbe landscape of roofs, the fret of trains flashing past in aerial passage not far off and leaving a plume of vapor behind, tbe passing of many people along the pavements reaching into smoky perspective."I think I know what you mean." pec work?" and his tone was almost reproachful."Dr. Eriosson spends many of hit evenings here. When you feel inclined, oome in too." "Yes; to lead is in his blood." "I will," he said gratefully. "I really da I want it more than anything else in the world. Indeed I want nothing else," she said earnestly. "That's it," sbe nodded. "If he'd been born iu a forest in tribal days, they'd have made bim obief. Or can't you fancy him a pirate, or a stupendous criminal with a horde of oringing followers, or a cardinal with an eye to pierce a conscience and subjugate a king, or a general like Napoleon, gazing in- And he did. Often after busy days during which scarcely a word was exchanged between them be would find himself strolling through the sultry night to tbe grateful coolness of Anne's rooms. Dr. Ericsson was generally there, but sometimes they were alone. He clasped his hands and looked belligerent."There was the sentimental reporter, who furtively read and reread feminine looking letters and sighed overstock reports; the silent man with the scarred face, who smoked strong cigars; the so- "We'll have to take to tbe stairs. Give me your parasol and let's make the best of it. You can rest by the way." "Yon have some illusions about it perhaps?'' "Do you remember Olga at all? I took her down to your father's a few times when she was a little thing." "I don't tbiuk so, and I must work." These impressions were a ripening contact, helping to wake her to newer perceptions of life, making her realize that she stood unsupported in a crowded, struggling place. They went side by side down tbe seemingly never ending iron stairway. "I remember her very distinctly," and Anne laughed. "She scratched my face once. We quarreled all the time. I remember that a little gainea ben of mine died, and I buried it with proper, religions pomp, singing over it, 'Sister, thou wast mild and lovely.' But Olga wouldn't have this at all and interrupted the services with shrieks and dances. We parted the frankest of enemies. It will be curious to gee ber again. Do you know she wasn't at all pretty then?" The words were spoken lightly, but with aa urgent note. David was interested. His fingers fell from the fob he had been twisting in regard for the passing moments. He noticed the line of impatienoe between her straight brows, the intensity in the bend of het "Are you tired?" be asked when the second landing bad been reaohed. "Wait a minute." The unusualness of unhampered comradeship with a bright, young and pretty woman, tbeir long, satisfying talks cm subjects whimsically varied, the independence of Anne's solitude, her ooorageous position as a worker, level with his own as a man, appealed to David with a charm new in his experience.She bad the exhilarating sensations of a daring and capable swimmer who plunges into deep water where only his own skill can keep him afloat. David took off his hat and stood facing her. They were in deep shadow, the sounds of life above, below, seeming to skim around without touching tbeir isolation. mouth, the paleness of her worn jet youthful face, her intent attitude. "/ tcant to do the pictures for the Piatt'* Her eyes were shining, her ooior high, as she hurried up the narrow stairway and entered the sitting room. An old man was standing by one of the windows and turned expectantly as she came in. It was Dr. Ericsson. He looked at ber with oool, friendly scrutiny. Peak strike," the heard him say. suddenly ceased beating. In tbe stillness the shrill warnings of fog whistles from the bay were eerie, as if witches shrieked at the windows. Donald paused at the door. Anue stood like a stone. He had met many women demanding Jut snob martial struggles in the battle at existence. Here was another. What ■boo Id he say to her—the old objections, the old warnings? He was disinclined for the task more for some reason now than ever before. But The Citizen did not want women among its workers. That was one of his father's prejudices he had never set aside. "Miss Garrick, I've wanted to say ■ouiething to you for several days," he said, smiling. "I want to take back what I said about women being unfit for newspajwr work. You have done splendidly and against great odds." As he grew more and more interested bis visits became more frequent. They became good friends. Sometimes while tbe moon looked over the roof tops and tbe caudles tlamed in the night breeze Anne sang to him. Sometimes Dr. Ericsson and she dined with him, mostly in cool, suburban places, requiring long drives along the almost empty avenues and through the massed shadows of the park. Sometimes on David's roof top, made comfortable with rugs and hammocks, they three saw the day die and the stars gather like eyes watch the clashing ways of life. Every day his fondness for her deepened. She was his comrade and friend. He felt himself her silent champion and protector. "Today she is a professional beauty with no other ambition than to make a good match. It will be strange to have them back. But you won't desert me then, Anne?" And he looked wistful. •j fur owr $ ALL  of the Globe for "Hear this. Temple"— And Frawley sank back into a seat unable to obey his impulse to speak. "I've been waiting for you again. There's something witching about you, Anne," he said helplessly. "You've Suite spoiled me for solitude. Every inner I have away from you is like sawdust." "Oh, do you think so?" And the color oame into Auue's cheeks. "I did iind the work hard, and it's beeu so hot." Her glance became a little challenging. "And do you think a woman may be still feminine even if she is not an exotic?""What, for hoaven's sake?" And one of the men waiting seized the tape from the operator's fingers. "I have Mn. Micawber s staying qualities,, you'll see," she said gayly. EUMATI ft was dark now. Beyond the windows lay « tempestuous blackness oross- He returned to the argument, but bis tone was still persuasive. This surprised himself, yet he felt it was because Miss Garrick came from Dr. Ericsson, and his liking for the old Swedish physician was a very deep one. He would not admit to himself that there was another reason—the youth, the charm of this woman, making the plea he had rejected so often. ' and similar Oomplsinti I under the stringent "Southern express wrecked south of Philadelphia. Many dead. D&vid Temple fatally injured." ed at times by the red and green of railroad lights. Anne laid her arm lightly around bis shoulder. She was a little the taller. There was something charmingly audaoious in her young face and protecting attitude contrasted with his gray hair ■ud sixty odd years. She had the impetuosity and assurance of a fresh runner who fears nothing on the long, mysterious race just begun. He bad the half defeated expression of one approaching with lagging steps the end and who thinks little even of the winning of that race which nevertheless must be run in (me fashion or another. "Well, i/o on," she said, leaning closer. differently over the fields of the dead? Do you know," she said in an awed, childish way, "I like him?" "All women like him," snapped Dr. Ericsson. "Oh, I like the exotic woman!" said David as they went on. "I like a woman sublimely useless, providing she's a lot of other things. You have your right to the career you've choaen, but you're one of a paralysing minority. Why don't you acknowledge it?" There was much mora Details followed, speculation, exclamations of dismay and pity, but Atme heard only those last four words. They had descended like a sword, striking strength and motion from her body aud all but one thought from her mind. She stood with pal" lips, a shadow weighiug upon her eyea She shivered as if in the clammy dusk of death. There was a blur, • grotesque mixing of faces aud objects, a sense as of being seized by a horrible separating current and torn away from all things to which she could cling, a sense of crushing loss. Auue sat back and closed her eyes. There was work before her, and she meant to do it well. Besides the stubborn law she had always followed of putting the best of herself into her work there was now a determination to beoome a name in the world of journalism, and all for a reason that made her a little ashamed—the milliner who hummed a ballad while she twisted a ribbon for a hat, the dairymaid who eyed her rows of glistening pans with a critical eye while listegiqg for a footstep, shared this ambition with ber— simply the longing to appear well in one man's eyes and be loved by him. He looked nt A ritie with tome surprise, oiety editor, whoee smile was as well oiled as his russet boots; the baby faced reporter, who betted on everything and "matched" on the smallest provocation; the fretful critio with the perpetual cold in the head, who banged the door as if to insinuate his exit was final, and who always returned in a rush for something forgotten; tbe artist lounging with an exalted look to his feet, who drew inspiration from Egyptian cigarettes; the pfflce boy, with terrible worldly knowledge in his pale eyes and the savoir faire of a veteran olubman ui bi« manner, who grow confidential "The work is terribly bard, Miss Gar - *iok, and really," be said as if making an admission almost against his will, "I don't regard the newspaper as a field far women." "Do they?" His tone was intentionally provoking, and Anne laughed, her glanoe a negative.CHAPTER V i with tr !»*0a., "It's a feminine instinct which nothing can kill to like the man who dominates you—and who can do without "Do you think Temple will get nere tonight before the paper's out?" Aud the uews editor nervously rolled and unrolled the copy be held. 31 HiaHEST 13 Brsnoh Hmsm. As they stepped from the shadow into tbe light of tbe lower ball the glare through tbe archway of thedoor dazzled them. « ui ,u. bkmlulnMH l FlKKKR * Pits, to Lutm AO L «■ C. DUCK, 10 North 1DID Hire J. H. HOtfk, 4 twU Si. P\ . riTTSTOX, FA. "Don't yon? Why not?" Vph, it's a blistering atmosphere, apd jfomen weje pever meant to find nourishment in herd facts. I advise you fo do something else—write a book or Ifftefe or anvthiu*"  "Well, go ou," she said, leaning closer. you?" ''When he says he'll do a thing, he does it," said Frawley, the managing editor, who was covering the pages before him with blue lines from his flashing pencil until they looked like maps of a railroad that followed an inconee- "I never knew a man so eager for compliments," she said, her jips curling in playful scorn. "Shall I fib and say every meal is lonely without you? Not a bit of XL 1 som** home so huniuj?. " Women and their affairs,'" said Dr. Ericsson, lighting a cigar, "engage David Temple's thoughts very little. He U uot iutolerwit. he it* »iinsi? iudiffer- "It's a lovely day," paid David. "The l tmospbere ia amazingly clear.'' They lDaused for a moment on the doorstep md looked at the pioture of the olty. She sat dow n before her desk facing thv black wiadvw.wfaere oily ligUtt jr-" " ■' ~ • '■■■" ——"»■ —- _ The rain was beating in a dramming "" tiw root of thfi.sii.vhea