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The day book. (Chicago, Ill.) 1911-1917, June 14, 1916, 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/sn83045487/1916-06-14/ed-1/seq-18/

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By Florence L. Henderson
(Copyright, 1916, W. G. Chapman.)
"Find a wife, settle down--and I'll
fix you for life," pronounced Abel
Drake, uncle indulgent of Rodney
"But, uncle," remonstrated the
latter, "I don't want to marry. As
to settling down, can any one be
more pleasantly and rationally ad
justed to circumstances than I am?
And as for fixing me for life, you
have done that already."
But the resolute and obstinate old
relative wagged his head defiantly.
He was used to being obeyed; when
he conceived a notion it was difficult
to budge him from its execution.
"When I was a young man," he
recited in quite a pathetic way, "I
found, an estimable girl. Like you, it
jarred me to think of being tied
down. She married well, probably
never thought of me after she found
a better man, but I missed it Not
only in losing her, but thenceforth
adopting the lonely, selfish life that
has made me half savage, wholly
hermit. Take a month, look around
the world, find a mate, and come
back and begin life as a man should,
with a loyal partner to share his
troubles and joys."
For a week, pursuant to orders,
Rodney drifted. He tried a fashion
able summer resort and tired of its
follies. It was a dreadful bore to
wander about aimless, with no defin
its program to follow. He found in
numerable fair faces, but .they did
not captivate him.
"There must be something in this
love business," he ruminated, "just
as the analysts and sentimentalists
aver, where ideal conditions and the
ideal girl are in conjunction, are not
to be sought after, but met, unex
pectedly, fatefully."
If, however, fate was drifting him
into the pathway of the ideal matej
the process was slow. Several weeks
passed by and Rodney was wearied
of wandering. He had about made
up his mind to write to his uncle re
signing his wandering commission
and returning home to the old cher
ished and longed-for life, when some
thing happened.
It came with rather startling mys
tery1 and abruptness. Rodney had
reached a little city in a state of the
middle west and had put up at a ho
tel, deciding with the morning to
purchase his tickets for a return to
his original starting place. He put
"Here Are the Papers"
in an hour in the lobby at a cigar and
reading the evening papers. There
was a crowd of new arrivals and the
clerk at the office desk had his hands
full and hurriedly slid across, the
counter the key asked for by Rodney.
He had not yet been up to his
room and handed the key to a bell
boy. Once within the apartment he
sat down at a table, discovering the
usual outfit of writing and hotel pa
per. Rodney wrote fully to his un-

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