The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1876-01-15


knock, and with sudden revulsion of feel
ing he rushed to the door. He took the
paper in his shaking hands and spread it
on the table, and the first words that met
his eyes, were:
TT, CAPITAL PRIZE, $40, 900.
The effect of this announcement on Mr..
Rogers was tremendous. He started to his
| feet and danced about the room. He
shouted "Huzzahn,' and gave three cheers,
as though he had been at political meet
ing. Then he rushed to the table where
his boys copy books lay piled, and Selling
them, one by one, flung them into the open
CRATE, yelling
Ono more school teaching. No more
slavery. Huzzah!'
While Mrs. Rogers, weeping and wiring
ing her hands, besought him to come to his
senses, and felt fully assured that her hus-
band had suddenly become raving maniac.
Finally he finished by throwing the butter
fly pen wiper on the top of the fire, and
falling into the chair weeping.
Then little Mrs. Rogers came out of her
corner, and with both arms about his neck,
besought him to tell her what allied him.
"Seven hundred and seventy, seven p
Capital prize"' said Mr.. Rogers. "I've
drawn it, Esmerelda.
Esmerelda rushed for the paper, found
the list of prizes, read the announcement,
and sat down gasping for breath.
"That's why you burnt the copy books"
she said. "But, oh, why need you burn
my pen wipere Itwas so pretty, thought
you cared for it. declare could save it.
believe it's only scorched.'
But Mr.. Rogers was not quite himself.
| Hang pens, pen handles and pen
wipers,' he said, and damned his boot
heel into the Goals. "I'll never touch one
again" Mrs. Rogers felt hurt, but still
she made allowance for her husband; and
the fact of the prize was just beginning to
| dawn upon her.
care you sure?" said she. "Oh, do
show me the ticket! perhaps you've made
mistake. Seven hundred and-oh, dear,
cannot find it,
"rll show you," said Mr.. Rogers, wip-
ing his forehead. "Here, Esmerelda.
He walked into the little bedroom. and
knelt down by his trunk. He felt down to
the bottom. He felt at the sides. He
tossed things out. He glared wildly.
"It' s here" he said. 81 know it's here;
| butt can't find it,
"Oh. Rogers" cried his wife, "what
was it like: Tell me?''
Yellow-square-dirty Esmerelda,
you haven't done anything with it?"
Esmerelda gave shrek. She flew to-
ward the CRATE.
"The pen wiper-save it!' she screamed.
"Hang the pen wiper"' cried Mr.. Rogers,
and he ,jammed his heels into the Goals
once more, and the flames burst hot and
red over the half burnt butterfly and con-
sumed it in an instant. "Can't you think
of anything else but that COMPOUNDED pen
wiper? The ticket? Look for it, Esmer-
elda.'
cts in the butterfly. How did l know!
You never told me? l thought it was an
old card" said Esmerelda. "Oh, why
didn't you save it ?"
"In the butterfly What butterfly"
cried Mr.. Rogers, staring about him.
Butterfly pen wiper!" cried Mrs. r.
and tainted away in the corner.
1t happened to be Saturday. The
school had holiday. All day long the
master sat and stared at the fire. All day
long his wife wept and bemoaned herself.
He took no pity on her. He had said:
81 hate you, and never can forgive you
And she thought of suicide.
They had no dinner. At night she made
tea, and they drank it with averted faces.
Then she crept away to her little spare
bedroom up stairs, leaving him by the fire.
The church bells rang sweetly, but
neither of that wretched pair went to
church. 1t never could be forgotten, that
miserable Sunday, by either of them; and
worst of all, Monday morning was coming,
and the school boys, and the work of the
day. About dusk Mrs. Rogers sat and
heard the voices of the holiday making
herself, as though she were divorced
When Mr.. Rogers returned, his tea was on
stand, and Esmerelda was shut up in the
spare bedroom again.
Both arose next morning, unrefreshed
and miserable. She felt like criminal;
he as the very vengeful ghost of foully-
murdered man might be supposed to feel.
He asked himself aloud a number of slngu-
lar questions.
AS: "Why do men marry idiots who
make pen wipers of ten thousand dollars ?"
"Why didn't she poison me; better than
| beggar me" he said, still to himself, still
aloud, "but she shall suffer for this
| AS he slipped his coffee and she cried into
hers, the morning paper flew into the win
dow which stood open. 1t was the carriers
way of saving time.
1t fell at Mr.. Rogers feet. He took it
up and opened it with bitter remembrance
of his last opening the paper. And these
were the first words that met his eye:
ESPECIAL ANNoUNCEMENT.-Th mana
gers of the Eagle Lottery desire to rectify
grave mistake in Saturday report. No.
TT did not draw the capital prize. 1t was
drawn by No. IT'S. The fault is the print
er's.''
"Hang the printer" cried Mr.. Rogers.
Esmerelda!'
"Oh,' said Esmerelda.
al forgive you, my DEAR" said Mr..
Rogers. 81 will never say another word
about it, never"
ooh, how nobel" sobbed Mrs. Rogers.
Then Mr.. Rogers went back to the school
boys and his copies, and the boy who had
como to F had Fool, Folly, Foolish, Fool
ishness," on the top line of his book; and
the boy who had come to i, wrote "1diot,
Idiots, Idiot, Idiots" after his masters
pate ri, all the writing hour.
FRANKLIN AT THE FRENCH CoURT.-A
pleasant incident at the court of Marie