VOLUME
I
x:v
CHAPTER XVI!.
The Ball.
Captain's Double
It was a big ball at the Portsmouth
town ball that night, given tor the lo
?al hospital. Charity balls spell mixed
society mostly, and suggest a condi
tion of things where people may make
up their own party and dance pretty
exclusively amongst themselves. Yet
there is a vast admixture of fringe peo
pie girls who come from no one quite
knows where youths with a look of in
definite strangeness—people the rest
look at speculatively and curiously.
There was a large party from Ad
miralty house and another from Gov
ernment house, and the- heads of de
partments and the self-styled leaders
of neighboring society were there.
There were also little Miss Jones from
unknown regions in Southsea, and
Miss Brown from one of the big Palm
erston road shops, and young Smith
from the dockyard, and the like. The
great hall was gay with bunting and
flowers and tall plants, behind which
the band of the Red Marines dis
coursed the most perfect of waltzes
ofnil the liveliest of ^Vashington
Posts." The high balcony was full of
lookers on—chaperons and the elderly
and non-dancing the floor below was
afloat with gleaming satin and airy
tulle, and the glow of color and wave
of movement.
The Government house party was in
good time. Gen. Kenyon prided him
self on military punctuality.^ His aide
de-camp had a certain air of eager
ness, had any one chosen to remark it,
as he took up his station close to the
big open doors. He had his card in
his hand, and on it there were a few
scattered names—the names of those
marked down there by duty. But the
wide space of white that» remained to
him meant to make enjoyment its fill
er-! n.
He was eagerly on the outlook for
Ursula, and she was a little late.' The
band was already playing an extra
when he saw the little brown head,
with its glittering diamond stars
,among the stars that still came surg
ing in. It was so unlike the usual
Southsea eagerness over its entertain
ments to be still on the threshold when
the ball had begun, that Winstanley
had almost begun to be filled with dis
may. Now it was quite another feel
ing that possessed him as he started
forward to claim the dances that he
was waiting for.
"How dreadfully late you are J" he
said, reproachfully, in an undertone,
as he gave her the card he had been
treasuring for her, and smiled down
Into her upturned face. "I thought I
.should have been torn away for the
lirst quadrille before I could see you.
My heart has been in my mouth for
the last ten minutes."
"What is the sensation?" Her smile
was as bright as his. 3M1 the disap
pointments of the morning were swept
away like a broken mist wreath when
the sun rises, before the happiness of
feeling his hand touch hers as the card
passed to her keeping.
"Such a disagreeable one that I hope
you won't experience it. Now, please,
what am I to have?"
"What do you want?"
"Oh, put in that unguarded way, I
want all your waltzes. You can't re
fuse after giving me.an opening like
that."
"1 wonder what would happen? My
chaperon would drag me-home by the
hair of my head! Four? Well,* yes
I think that isn't unreasonable. Four,
then, and an extra or two at supper
time. The supper ones are always the
nicest, don't you think?"
"All right, then thank you. And
any others I may chance to pick up by
the tfay. Let me go, now, and sacri
fice myself on the shrine of duty. I
must dance the first quadrille with
Mrs. Hagan."
He went off cheerily, and Ursula
found herself surrounded by applicants
for her dances, who kept her busy put
ting down their names: The square
that opened the ball was over and
Winstanley was making his eager way
back to the side of the hall where he
caught sight of the bright'green frock
of Ursula's chaperon, when a light
touch fell upon his arm.
He turned and saw Countess Ilka
standing beside him, her brilliant eyes
smiling upon his own. "Are you In too
great baste to speak to your best
Br V.II.I.IAS CAMPBE.LL DAVIDSON
5
p1
voice that was delightful to the ear of
those who listened to her.' "I thought
you were going to pass me without a
word."
People like to hear themselves call
ed the best friends of other people.
Few men would quarrel with the term
as applied to them by a woman lovely
and charming as Countess Iljsa. It is
true Winstanley could not feel himself
honestly entitled to so pleasing a
name, but that made it all the more
flattering. He was more Countess
Ilka's friend than he had any idea of.
He stopped, arrested in his flight over
to Ursula—and produced his card. "I
could not think of passing you without
a word, when 1 have such an impor
tant one to say," he answered. "There
are some dances to my share, or am I
hoping too much?"
"Oh, yes, there are dances, ff you
care to have them. I am keeping them
especially for you." Winstanley un
derstood how much was meant by that
word "keeping," and was grateful.
Countess Ilka's dances were more
sought for that winter than those of
any woman in Portsmouth.
She had come in late, with the slow
and leisurely grace that always .mark
ed her movements, and she had been
received with a rush of claimants for
her waltzes almost before she was
well within the door. She did not need
to come almost before the hour of in
vitation, like the e^ger Southsea girl,
in order to fill her card. She could
have filled it thrice over, and Winstan
ley knew it quite well. It made it all
the more agreeable to feel that she
had kept dances for one, when they
were so difficult t.o keep.
He looked kindly down, at the sleek,
black head, shining with jewels,'and
the exquisite gown that spoke Worth
to every woman present who had ever
seen a creation of that artist. "Which
waltzes are you going to be good
enough to give me?" he asked, hold
ing ready his card. Ttye first dance
with Ursula was just beginning to
sound its dreamy notes, and even to
dance with Countess Ilka would not
lose one turn of that waltz.
She threw a quick -glance over his
card as he held it. He could not see
that she saw the names written on its
white surface, but her eyes were keen.
There were six spaces filled with two
initials. Did Countess Ilka know
whose they'were? It could hardly have
been by accident that she said, with
out hesitation, "I can give you two and
seven and ten and nineteen—and an
extra or two as well, if you like."
Winstanley flushed a little. It was
odd that she had selected the very set
he had taken from, Ursula. "I'm so
sorry I'm engaged for all those," he
said. "May I tell you my disengaged
ones and hope that you can give me
those?"
There was certainly a shade of con
straint. in her voice as she agreed.
Could she fancy that he was lacking in
keenness over her card? He was self
reproachful, and aware that he was
quite the only man in the garrison at
that moment who would have shown
any want of enthusiasm. The fear
that she thought him cool over her
kindness made him put a trifle more
ardor than he felt into his next, words.
They m&de out three dances for which
they were both disengaged, and then
he bowed and smiled himself away.
The .first dance with Ursula the
dance and she ha'd both been look
ing forward to so eagerly—was almost
half-way through.
Ursula's face cleared when he came
hurrying up to claim her. She had
been looking a little depressed as the
strains of the Red Marine band went*
on and still he did not appear. She put
her hand under his elbow with a little
tender pressure as tye whirled her into
the midst of the crowd. I had a let
ter from daddy this morning," she
said "he expects to land at Plymouth
three weeks from Friday. I am going
to meet him, and then he will come
back with me to the 'Shuttlewaites'.
Don't you congratulate me?"
"I hope to congratulate myself a
great deal .more presently," he
breathed into her ear, significantly.
She laughed 'and colored, anr said,
"flush, hush!" quite deliciously. They
forgot the rest of the crowded ball
room they forgot the mixed assembly,
and Miss Jones, and Miss Brown, and
Mr. Smith, and the rest of them they
were alone in the garden where grows
the Eden rose. X, I
,s
"It's not the endvalreadjft What
idiot ever wrote, a waltz as short as
that?" It was'Winstanley who'ex-
JV-* sA
W? 4 ..
cam* to standstill and the last notes
died wailing away.
"I think it was about the same
length as usual." Ursula tried to look
unconscious. "It was half over when
we began it. Perhaps that madg the
difference."
"So it was. I was kept. It wasn't
my fault, I needn't tell you.. It was
the last thing I wanted to happen, I
assure you."
"It doesn't matter only don't let it
happen again, please, it you can man-1
age. I just hate to lose the first of a
really perfest waltz."
"What makes your waltzes perfect—
the music, or the partner, or what?"
"Oh, the floor and the. hand, and a
score of things. Why do you want so
much to know?"
"Because if it's the partner—and
this lafct one was perfect—do tell me
if that is What you meant."
She cast a little look up at him, as
different from Countess Ilka's lash
veiled upward glances as the violetJs
different from the cactus flower. "It
could not be perfect when some was
lost!" was all she would say.
It was a curious coincidence, and
one which at another time might have
struck Winstanley, that £11 those
dances Countess Ilka had selected
seemed to be just before the ones he
had with Ursula. More than once he
was held so long in a pleasant net of
talk that he had to hurry to find his
little sweetheart. More than once he
had to repeat that breathless excuse.
-Ursula was neither unreasonable nor
exacting. 5 She was the kind of girl
who could not suspect that the man
she cared for would flirt with any one
else. Yet as the same thing repeated
itself, and it was always Countess
Ilka whom he came from tardily to'
claim herself, a new little gravity be
gan to dawn on her face arfd she
seemed to wonder to herself. Was it
only a chance—or was Countess Ilka
so'charming that she made people for
get the- flight of time when they
danced with her? yet it was a little
discomfort, a faint cloud on the sunny
horizon where, till now, no cloud had
reared its head.
Supper had been the chief point of
attraction to chaperons for some lit
tle time, and the ballroom was clearer
for dancing and more seized upon by
the devoted waltzer in consequence.
The lirst of Ursula's- extras was* at
hand. Ccn^atesd ilka, watching, saw
Captain Winstanley looking about the
room from side to side. She seized her
opportunity. Her piercing look had
seen well enough this evening whose
influence was in the field against her
own and might conquer it. It was a
kind of combat dear to her very soul
when another woman was the foe.
She stopped him" with a touch of her
curious Oriental fan.
"My supper partner seems fo have
mistaken his arrangement," she said,
with a pretty little air of mock em
barrassment. "Would you do me the
great favor to take me to the supper
room? I am longing for something to
eat."
"Delighted." It was impossible to
say anything else. Winstanley calcu
lated that the act of escort wpuld,not
take more than a minute. He would
find her a place, commend her to the
care of one of her always eager^part
ners, then excuse himself and come
back for Ursula. He gave her his arm,
and they made their way to the sup
per rooms by her guiding more than
his they found their way into the more
empty one. He found a cosy seat in a
secluded corner, and began to say
something about being 'engaged for
that dance, and regretted that he must
ask her to excuse him, when she cut
him short with a compassionate smile.
"You were engaged to Miss Hamil
ton, I know. I saw the name upon
your card. But see, she is over there,
eating her supper With Mr. Felton, of
the royal yacht. I saw her come in
with him, or I would not have asked
you to bring me." Winstanley looked,
amazed. Ursula could never have
given another man the extra she had
promised him, or gone in to supper
without waiting for him. Yet, even as
he looked, he saw, her "on the 'other
side of the room.
(To Be Continued.)
A Wife's Reproach.
Admiral Capps, in an address to a
temperance society, told how drink
had once caused the ^downfall of a
a so
In the course of the sad story he
said
"Sometimes, after a debauch,, thei
man would be repentant, humble. He
would promise -his wife to do better.
But, alas, the years taught her the
.barrenness of all such promises.
"And one night, when he-was get
ting to be an old man—a prematurely
old man, thin limbed, stoop shoul
dered, with red-trimmed eyes—he said
to his wife, sadly:
'"You're a clever woman, Jenny
"a
courageous, active.^good woman. Toil
should have married a"* better man
than I am. dearl'V1
"She looked at hlm. and, ttilnldriff'of
What he once had been. she answered
in a auiet voice: 1#
GKAN© MARAIS, MINNESOTA, RDAY, -AUGUST 4, 1906
The Break
a
Uriah was knd^n as one of
tne
most
Uriah had taken his way home
to the neighboring farm, where
he worked, in sadness of soul.
Even had he urderstood Sylves
ter's philosophy, ihe would have
been at a loss hoP|to put it into
practice. Unconsciously, how
ever,- he had been^ influenced. He
had been ponde^hg the old
man's words all /^day, and to
night, for...the JfrgFr time ,lie felt,
an impatience with the tameness
of his existence. It affected his
usual gentleness. Letting down
only the/upper bars, he seized a
club, and with some homely ex
pletives foreign to his lips, ca
joled the cattle into hurdling the
gap.
As
I 4
.,£•• a*^',,'"*r
STON.
BY C. C.
{Copyright, 1906, by Daily story Pub. Co.)
It was Uriah's last duty of th#
day to personally conduct thf
cows, and such of, their near rela
tives as accompanied them to
the barnyard drihking-trough at
milking timef bacikto pasture.
patieht^'moffentsive of
mortals. This indtself was a se
rious fault in tlif eyes or Lucy's
father, old Sylvei&r Graham.
"I ain't got no complaint
'cause you're Uriah," the
old man had sai&ptfce evening be
fore "you're illustrious, and
would be just thepind of a feller
to take hold |Jy little place,
but I'm 'fraid tolrisk you as a
son-in-law. Sompfrow
YOU
strike me as bei
you're too gtod
you ever brojse
mandments in
natural, t&in't
young'feller uut:
don't
just human
I don't s'pose
ie o' the com
life. "'Tain't
ipalthy for a
0 break loose
and cut a caper once in awhile, in
the pride of his|j youth, as the
Bible says. I know/you and Lucy
think a heap o' ea£h other, but I
got a parent's alftkiety that if
you didn't leave tier, a young wid
der you'd some /day cause her
sorrer by sowing/wild oats out
as on
they were swallowed up in
the dusk of the field, Uriah
stood, pensively, gazing after
them. Suddenly he had a sense
of something rushing toward
him out of the darkness. The
next moment he was doing a
somersault. A half-grown steer
dashed by. Uriah was not hurt,
but the incident seemed to
awake something within him.
Instead of anger he felt a wild
sympathy with the impulse that'
had caused the steer to throw off
the restraint (if the pasture field.,
The beat of its hoofs, as it fle|r:
up the lane thrilled him. Uriah
lay for a long time in deep
thought. After awhile the steer,
evidently happy and satisfied,
returned to the gap of its own
accord, and quietly permitted it
self to- be herded. riah re
placed the bars and started for
the house. His mind was made
"P.
Midnight"found him' well on
toward tLe city. He had walked
15 miles. A haystack served him
as a bed, and a pocketful of
cakes supplied his breakfast,
after which he caught a friendly
farmer's
Wagon.
Uriah had never been in the
city before* Its rushing life and
strange sights both bewildered
and intoxicated him. In his
pocket was f40, his entire sav
ings. ^To his .mind this sum pre
sented limitless possibilities. He
was ready to part with the last
penny of it hi bis mad determina
tion to turn himself loose. Thf
only porblem with him now was
how to begin. ', r1
If Uriah was unacquainted
with the town, it might be said
that the town was not so famil
iar with Uriah," or the pro
nounced type of rustic he repre
sented, to1 rob,'him. of* novelty.
An awkward, overgrown youtfc,
of marked peculiarity :of feature,
Uriah in ordinary?r garbw would
have no-
clothes on was a sensation. The
garments were of archaic cut
and pattern, and fitted him with
painful brevity. A small boy's
stiff hat rested on his bushy, un
cut locks.
As Uriah stood upon the cor
ner, in open-mouthed perplexity,
it was easy to imagine the prob
able fate that awaited him and
his $40. It would be like finding
money. In
(the
course of a few
minutes a spnice-looking young
man spied him from across the
street. He hurried over, as
though he was afraid Uriah
might get away before he
reached him.
Up at the Forks the where-,
abouts of Uriah caused much
anxiety for a week or two, until
Jeff Blaine, the huckster, who
had paid a visit to the city,
brought back word that he had
seen Uriah as a play-actor in a
theater that he looked just like
be always did, and people were
making a great-fuss over him.
It was conceded that Jeff had
run across Uriah" somewhere in
town, but as for the rest—Jeff
had been drinking again—until
the Forks saw the newspaper
which said:
"It is interesting to learn that
the splendid piece of character
work in "Up the- State," which
|H H«ihm
Ijrii
HE HURRIED AS IP AFRAID URIAH
MIGHT GET AWAY.
has brought fame to that talent
ed young actor, Mr. Wallace
Keene, is* taken from actual life.
Mr. Keene accidentally met on
the street one day the prototype
of his creation .in the person of a
young countryman, Uriah Hope,
and has made him his constant
companion. The countryman had
come to the city to see, the
sights. If he has missed any it
has not been the fault of Mr.
•Keenej who, being anxious to
study him thoroughly,, has
spared no expense in his enter
tainment. It is understood that
the pace has proved too swift for
the young man, and thatvhe is
anxious to return home. Hie will
probably carry back ,with him
the pleasing memory of more
different kinds of headaches
than he ever before expe
rienced."
Yes, it was true, Uriah want
ed to go l\ome. He thought,
yearningly, of the steer return
ing to the gap. He wanted to see
Lucy again and have a talk with
her father. He, somehow, 'had
the feeling, as he readjusted the
towel on his forehead, that he
had-qualified.
Lucy recognized him when he
reached the front- gate, in spite
of his stylish new clothes, and
thought .him gplendid. Old Syl
vester's greeting was scarcely
less hearty.
"You sly rascal, I didn't think
it was in you. No more o' your
foolishness, now git thie weddin'
over, so that we can start the
fall plowin'." -a
-,1'
The old man slapped him ad
miringly on the back. "I'll fur
nish the
jnoney
for the licensed-
spent every cent you had,
I
s'pose he added, with ill-con
cealed glee.
saidr^Uriah.
1
N THE LONELY
POOR WORKER LEFT ALONE BY
WOMEN HOLIDAY MAKERS.
Men Away from Home Miss Fa
niiliar Chores —Women Have
Small Resources to Pass the Time
—The Man with, a Fad Most For
tunate—Book Reading Unsatis
factory in a Deserted House—Sum
mer Time Hardest on the Man
Whose Family Goes Away.
BY MARGARET E. SANGSTER.
(Copyright, 1906, by Joseph B. Bowles.)
A cat in a strange garret, a dog
that has lost its owner, a, fish out of
water, each in turn symbolize the ex
treme of discomfort and misery. Dis
content with one's environment is
wretchedness.
Nobody who is intensely lonely can
be anything but forlorn, although he
may put a brave face on the situation
and hide from the people he meets the
yearning he has for home companion
ship. Men often feel the pangs of
home-sickness and rebel against the
dullness of solitude when their neigh
bors suspect them of no tedium and
suppose them to be quite free and
easy in their independence. A mar
ried man whose wife and children
have gone away for a summer holi
day, leaving him to hold the fort
alone, picking up meals at clubs or
restaurants, and sleeping in a house
that echoes to the tread and has
ghosts prowling about in every shad
owy corner, is much to 'be pitied.
Scores of such men go to business
every day during the heated terms in
oiir cities, and at night return to sleep
in houses as silent as the tomb. They
do not complain, they write jovial let
ters to the absent ones, and they make
a pretense of engaging in such pas
times as are open to them, but the
summer wears on their nerves.
A boy or man away from home for
the first time, missing the familiar
chores at morning or evening, and the
mother-brooding that has been so con
stant and so sweet from childhood on,
finds a boarding house among entire
strangers as desolate as the desert.
What diversions are there for the
lonely man?—What shall Adam do- in
an Eden where there is no genial com
rade to take him By the hand and
make him feel that he is of much ac
count?
Eve, left to herself, finds plenty of
occupation for brain and fingers. She
may busy herself with delicate laun
dry work not to be entrusted to the
rough handling of servants. Stocks,
lace handkerchiefs, cuffs and collars
and the various etceteras of a fem
inine toilette, may be periodically
renovated in her own room, if she
have the needful apparatus. -She has
stockings to darn, mending to do,
shirt-waists to make, hats to trim,
embroidery to -fill her leisure, and al
ways endless letters to write and
sometimes books to read. A woman
has the advantage over a man in a
multitude of small resources, trifling
in themselves, but essentially worth
while in their results, and excellent as
things that pass away time that might
be empty and lonely.
Notwithstanding a general opinion
to the contrary, a man is more de
pendent on the society of others and
on the friendship of his equals than
is the average woman.
When a man has a fad or a hobby
or some knack at cabinet making or
upholstery, he is vastly better off than
his neighbor who understands 4nly
the single round of the day's work.
A fellow who plays a musical instru
ment, whether it be banjo, mandolin
or piano, can always while away soli
tary evenings, but the man who is
most to be envied is the one who can
take an old, disreputable and broken
down bit of furniture, a desk, a table, a
sofa, atfd spend long and patient hours
on rubbiiig it down, polishing and re
storing' it, so that he serves a double
purpose not only does he save the
enormous expense charged by the
trade for renovating antique furni
ture, but he makes his wife or sister
the envy of all her friends by- the
marvels of his workmanship.
In a plain little parsonage in the
mountains, never »ind where, there
are chairs and dressing tables that
anyone in the smart set might covet,
evolved from the rubbish heap by the
deft hand and skillful labor of a mem
ber of the family who never finds
time hanging heavily or knows the
meaning of solitude, except in the
sense of privilege and benefit.
A naturalist, whatever his field, is
masted of moods and often considers
companionship superfluous. If one is
devoted to. the study of birds or but
terflies or beetles, one need not dread
a hermit life.. Although one's home
be in a crowded town, there are sub
urbs within^ re*ch ana the man who
would amuse' his leisure by any de
partment of scientific, investigation,
however tumble, will not complain of
tonelineM.^1^-
Strange JO say, although reading be
Qne'sj»assion,
it is apt to.pall ln a
ws:
'f
,»
minnesqia
HISTORICAL
Of course, the man Who is alone at
home may write letters. Whether or
not he does so depends on his facility
in description and in the presence or
absence of a gift of humor. A man
deficient in the sense of humor loses
nine-tenths of the happiness that
might be his. Few situations are
without a side that sparkles with fun
for those who can discern it. A young
man who lost, everything in the San
Francisco disaster wrote home to his
people that for climatic reasons he
had crossed the bay. "It is cooler over
here," he said. And the letter in
which he recounted a catalogue of
misfortunes real enough to crush a
weaker spirit, provoked irresistible
laughter by its mirthful sallies. The
man who sees the fun in things and
who refuses to be tragic when thera
is the slightest chance to be comic is
immeasurably more sensible and more
fortunate than his fellow mortals who
are nothing if not solemn and serious.
A good plan for husbands and sons
abandoned in summer by their kins
folk, as is our American custom,
might be to poor their loneliness. It
is not always safe for reasons of
health and because of the accidents of
sudden illness that sometimes seizo
those who are ordinarily well, for any
one to remain entirely alone in a
house at night.
Few men fear the midnight burglar.
With the silver in the safe deposit
vault and the jewel3 in the possession
of their wearers, there is little to
tempt thieves, unless they are of the
variety who steal lead pipes and bur
row in the cellar. But two or three
neighbors living together for a few
weeks, with a housekeeper engaged to
see that they have the material com
forts of home, might defy loneliness
and emerge from the season which to
them affords only a fortnight's vaca
tion none the worse for its expe
riences.
AN UNUSED DOORWAY.
Of Decided Value as Made Use Of by
Either of the Means Here
+i Suggested. --t
In the sitting-rooms of many houses
built years ago are doorways which
are quite unnecessary, remarks a
writer in the Farmers' Review. Such,
a doorway can very easily be made to
form a most useful piece of furniture.
Here are two good methods suggest
ed by the New York World. In "both.'
the door is removed altogether and the:
top filled in with shelves, while th®
lower part in one is filled in with
K2*
DESK AND BOOKSHELVES.
pigeon-holes, drawers and a writing
flap above, a cupboard -and drawers
filling the space below, and forms a!
complete^and most useful bureau, withi
drawers and shelves in which to stow
all the belongings that, for writing
purposes, one needs to have near atJ
hand.
In the case of the'other, the owner
needed a place in which to stow larga
mounted photographs and sketches^
The lower part of the recess is devot-4
ed to this, while above come drawers!
for smaller photographs, and abov*
again shelves for books, of reference:
The top shelf, not Being required at
the moment,-is filled with old china'
jars, and the whole effect is delight^
ful.
To BemoYe Sunburn..
Barley boiled in water, until the eon*
sistency of rich cream and used on thar
face ipll rem6ve sunburn and leave the
&AV *r-
society.
NUMBER 8
pant. The fire on the hearth in win
ter may give cheer and take away th*
sense of absolute seclusion, and a pip*
is a good deal of company, but in.
summer, with windows open and a
nreless hearth,' even the pfpe is a dis
appointing makeshift for a fawiMfry
household presence. One loves to
read if there are people moving about,
if somebody sits near with a bit of
needlework, or if in another room
there is the low-voiced talk of young
people who are a world to themselves.—
or if in the nursery above there are'"^
little rosy children fast asleep. But &
book read in the silence of a deserted
house often adds emphasis to home
sick yearning for company.
••-ff
-j5-
v-
?y§PNj