THE LOVING CUP .
By Augustus C. Sherwin.
(Copyright, 1916, W. G. Chapman.)
His pulse beat high Jiis eye glowed
with excitement, the pricle-of life was
in its fullest expression. It was a
moment supreme the high point of
fame and favor.
The loving cup! it stood before
him a delicate, costly creation, and
to Ross Worden the script letters of
his name, showing out in clear relief,
were to him as grand and precious
as though blazoned from some great
scroll of fame. As the last words ex
pressing his heartfelt appreciation of
the gift friendly souls had bestowed
upon him fell from his lips the warm
applause of tried and trusted friends
thrilled him to his loyal soul.
"There will be a bigger one when
you come back from the front, Wor
den!" hurrahed a convivial member
of the group of journalists, artists
and men of wealth and fashion.
"It's a new experience," said an
other. "I fancy it will be inspiriting
"Decidedly," commented a grizzled
veteran newspaper man with a
scarred face, who had written war
stories on the actual field sixty years
"Good luck, old fellow," hailed an
ambitious-looking young man, Dale
Armour, his pretty, blushing sister,
Nella, on his arm.
Worden paused. The reigning pride
in his face softened down to a senti
ment of interest, an emotion subtle
and compelling. He was sincerely
glad when someone accosted Ar
mour and engaged him in conversa
"Just take charge of Nella for a
minute or two, won't you?" suggest
ed Armour, and Worden found him
self beside the lovely young girl in a
retired corner of the clubroom.
Her presence acted upon him like
some sweet angelic creature leading
him from the .feverish atmosphere of 1
society into the cealm of soulful
peace, as if in some sylvan solitude.
She had only commonplace compli
ments for the honor bestowed upon
him, friendly wishes for his success
as an inspiring war correspondent.
Yet present and future were obscur
ed to his mental vision as he looked
into her beautiful eyes. Their shrink
ing depths seemed to work some al
luring power he could not analyze.
A rose had fallen from her corsage.
He picked it up and placed it tender-
Shattered the Frail Station.
ly between the leaves of a memoran
"An amulet," he said in a low, in
tense tone "may I keep it without
Her lips formed a voiceless assent
She was all a-tremble. Her breath
came quickly. In rash "impetuous
ness he reached to take her hand.
"All right sister, it's getting late,"
intervened Dale. "Thanks, Worden,
and again good luck go with you,"
and the fairy vision vanished and the
words unspoken that meant happi
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