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THE BUSYBODY
Sy Mildred Caroline Coodridge
(Copyright by W. G. Chapman.)
"Evidence, in-con-tro-vert-ible evi
dence!" pronounced Mrs. Maria Pres
cot, village gossip and busybody.
"My!"
"You don't think " began pretty
Althea Lind, bride of less than a year.
"That your husband is up to some
thing decidedly! My dear, tell me
all about it in detail. I had a husband
"once myself. I've had experience. I
can be helpful."
Truly helpful as a scandal-monger
and meddler had the prying trouble
maker been ever since her husband
had run away from her. Innocent,
inexperienced Althea little knew the
ogre she was. Poor Althea longed'f or
sympathy and needed advice. 'Mid
tears she now faltered out her
wretched story.
"Arthur has been so good and
kind," she sobbed. "Lately, though,
he seems to be more absorbed, I
think I must call it."
"Geting tired of wedded bliss
that's the men all over!" snapped
Mrs. Prescott. "Go on, dear."
"He has been away till 10 o'clock
every evening except Sunday for two
weeks. You know he is the book
keeper at Evans & Wilson."
"Yes, I know," nodded the eager
busybody.
"They are decorators and all that.
Arthur said there was a lot of extra
work, this being the rush spring sea
son. He says all hands have been
working overtime. Well, I didn't think
so much of that, but he has acted so
strange and secretive. I've heard him
chuckle to himself. I've caught him
smiling as if he had some pleasant
secret thought He didn't share it
.with me, and it worried me, it was so
unlike him."
"Plain case!" smirked Mrs. Pres
cott confidently.
"But this morning oh, Jiow shall
I tell it! I took jip Ms coat to iconjout.
a stray wrinkle or two he is so neat
and tidy) you know. He jumped at
me as if he was terribly startled. He
handed back the coat to me, but not
until I saw him slyly remove a folded
piece of pink paper from the pocket
that he did not want me to see."
"Pink? That's bad!" croaked Mrs.
Prescott, oracularly.
"It's just breaking my heart!" went
"We'll Trap Him."
on Althea desperately. "What do
you suppose, Mrs. Prescott?"
"I don't suppose, .1 just strictly
guess," pronounced Mrs. Prescott, de
terminedly, "that your husband is
spending his evenings with strange
company. That pink paper was prob
ably a note from some lady. Now,
don't you get hysterical, dear. I'm
going to fathom, this thing and I'll
1 show, jovl ioW-to J)ringr this- vtruanf ?
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