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The day book. (Chicago, Ill.) 1911-1917, August 29, 1914, LAST EDITION, Image 18

Image and text provided by University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign Library, Urbana, IL

Persistent link: http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn83045487/1914-08-29/ed-1/seq-18/

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By George Cobbett.
Little Miss Mayo crept guiltily up
the street toward the apartment
block in which she lived alone. In
her hand, turned so that no passerby
might see the incriminating title of
the magazine, was "Youth."
Little Miss Mayo had never made
any friends since she had arrived in
In the Company of "Youth" She
Took Wonderful Journeys Nightly.
the big city ten years before. She
was much too shy for that, and,
though she was only thirty-two, she
had a settled look, the look of one
who has thrown her spinsterhood
about her and means to maintain it
How did the little stenographer
spend her evenings? She had spent
them in much the same way during
the whole ten years that had elapsed
since Harry Leeson bade her a des
pairing good-bye in their home vil
lage. Leeson had loved her, bit he was
a ne'er-do-well. He could not suc
ceed. At twenty-seven he was ac
knowledged a failure. And he had
gone west with borrowed money, in
a last attempt to do something. He
had promised to write, but he had
not written to her. And six months
later, when her mother died, the last
of her relatives, Miss Mayo had pack
ed up and gone to the metropolis to
earn her living.
It had been a tremendous ordeal,
this striking out alone. She had
never summoned up initiative to
change her place of residence since,
oho lived alone, she drudged, a lone
ly, pathetic figure in the office down
town. But her evenings were ablaze
with romance.
Like many sensitive, shy, shrink
ing people, Miss Mayo had the soul
of an adventurer. And in the -company
of "Youth" she took wonderful
journeys nightly. Sometimes she
was swept along breathlessly in the
wake of Napoleon's triumphant arm
ies; sometimes, a captive maiden,
she longed for the arrival of the cav
alier who was to rescue her from her
oppressor. Sometimes she lived on
an uninhabited island and saved a
shipwrecked, university man with
blonde locks curling round his hand
some head. Sometimes she was a
simple country girl, wooed by the
millionaire of the district. But
something of this sort was always oc
curring to save Miss Mayo from go
ing mad with ennui.
Of all the writers who held her
spellbound and breathless, none
could equal Harold Trefusis. She
pictured him, a dark-eyed, dashing
hero, drawing upon her own adven
tures for his material, with countless
love affairs behind him and countless
hearts still waiting to be broken.
And this, in fact, accorded with the
editor's own statements. For in
stance, in the current number.
"Our readers will be glad to learn
that Mr. Harold Trefusis is returning
to the scene of his last success
Cuba in his forthcoming serial,
'The Maid of Lonely Key.' Mr. Tre-
Jfusis spent several months in the.

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