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TONY'S SWEETHEART
By Harold Carter.
"You "see, mees," explained Tony,
"I cannot come "to -night school for
two, free weeks, because I going to
be married."
Miss Eversham, who counted Tony
as one of her most promising pupils,
was decidedly surprised. Tony was a
sculptor of those little terra cotta and
clay figures which are sold by ped
dlers on city streets; but he had a
8
"That Ees Marta," Said Tony,
genuine artistic ability which Miss
Eversham prided herself on having
discovered. She had even projected
a brilliant future for him, beginning
with a course at the Cooper Union
and ending with commissions from
state governments and crowned
heads.
"But, Tony, you didn't tell me any
thing about this," objected Miss Ever
sham, a little petulant.
"But I did not know till las' week,
mees," responded the young fellow.
"I got a letter from my cousin Mari
no, in Palermo. He save my father's
life in the time of the revolution.
Now he write me he is an old man
and to die, and have no money. So
I must marry his daughter, Marta,
whom I never see. He says she is
nineteen and ver' beautiful, and she
meet me on boat tomorrow."
"Well, Tony, I wish you happi
ness," answered Miss Eversham, du
biously. "But after you are married,
come to see me. I want to talk to
you about about your studies."
Three days later Tony appeared,
smiling.
"It is all ri', Mees Eversham," he
said. "I no marry till Christmas.."
"How is that, Tony?" inquired the
teacher. '
"Well, mees, I go to the boat,"
Tony explained, "and there is no
Marta. ' But instead, a fashionable
young woman ask for me by name.
'Are you Tony Satelli?' she ask. 'I
am friend of Marta. My father have
beeg estate near Palemo. Marta she
cannot come. She say you mus' send
money, then she come.' So I send
money at Christmas, and then Marta
come to'me."
Miss Eversham was still more du
bious, and her anxiety on behalf of
her protege was not lessened when,
as the weeks passed by, Tony's face
became more and more downcast.
Miss Eversham rallied him on his de
spondency in view of his approaching
marriage, but it was not until late in
the year that Tony vouchsafed an ex
planation. "It is all gone, all my hope, gone,"
he said, -pulling a photograph!- out of
his pocket. "Look, Mees Eversham!"
Miss Eversham studied the photo
graph with dismay. It was that of
an extremely plain young woman,
slatternly and gaudily attired, and the
shoulders were those of a hunchback.
"That ees Marta," said Tony. "She
is a cripple and can never stand oa
her feet. AU her life she go so." . ,
