The Milan exchange. (Milan, Gibson County, Tenn.) 1874-1978, 1877-10-11

of all kinds where writing was demand
ed. There were the usual certificates,
recommendation, pufs. 1t was war
ranted to outwrite the fastest scrivener,
to be perfectly legible, in short, to be q
necessity of life. Here was the thing
for Carryi Her arm already was pain
full from long use. She had been worn
out with her novel. Here was the very
thing for Christmas present. 1t was
expensive, to be sure; but no doubt
would be economy in the end, and there
were two hundred dollars laid away in
the Bank of Boots, that his old grand
mother, up in Maine, had left him years
ago. Jacks mind was made up.
Pretty soon the novel came out, and,
though truth compels US to own it was
not wonderful, still it was not bad.
Natural, simple, wholesome, it had
small sales and few admirers. But
Carry harvested little sum from it and
did not say much about her disappoint-
ment. She was able to give Jack
nice Christmas present, and when the
festival came and she wheeled a luxuriant
easy-chair into the parlor and present
ed it to her dear husband, she was
pleased enough to utter little scream
of Joy when he unveiled the mysterious
thing in the corner and showed her the
typewriter.
Before many days she had learned to
use the lettcred keys rapidly, and Jack
in her daily delight and gratitude had
almost lost sight of Mr.. Platt. But when
Valentines Day brought to the door an
elaborate document, in thick, stiff en-
velope, and big bunch of Parma VIC
les and daphne blossoms, Jack began
to rage. Garry had gone on to Boston,
to make some arrangements with the
editor of juvenile paper there; so he
put the letter aside and the flowers in
water, and went next day to his office,
with set lips and pale face. AT night
he returned to the lonely rooms, and,
from sheer loneliness, sat down to write
letter to his brother in San FRANCISCO.
AS he lifted his pen from the desk, to
reach forward to the inkstand, the gold
pen dropped from the holder and fell in
to the waste-basket, close by. Carry
had left in hurry and forgotten to
empty this collection of scraps; and the
pen slipped out of sight at once. Jack
hunted among the rustling papers; but
at last had to pull them all out, one by
one, and was halfway to the bottom,
when a torn sheet of delicate note-paper
met his eye, and on its surface, in the
square purple print of the typewriter,
these words: "Dear, darling Hen"
Another and still another torn piece of
the same paper held the same words in
different sequence: "Dear Hen. Dear
est. Hen dear. Hen. Hen p. Hen Pl."
Jack sat transfxed. 1t did not occur
to him that the nickname was strange
for a lady to use. That was trife. But
this! This was confirmation strong as
holy writ"
Poor Jack! The fires were let loose
upon him. Jealousy is "cruel as the
grave!' To have laid Carry in her
grave would have been nothing to this!
He could not sleep. He walked the
room till dawn; then mechanically
kindled the fire afresh, and went down
town to breakfast and work. But break
fast was myth and work mechanical.
When he reached home at night, he
looked like a man about to die. He
opened the door with his key. A flood
Of light, of warmth, of perfume burst
on his childish senses, and Carry threw
herself into his arms.
He held her off sternly. His face
never relaxed muscle.
"Jackl jack What does all you?
Are you sick? Oh! Jack, dear! Do
speak,"
But he only took her hand in his and
led her to the table, opened little card
drawer, where he had laid these damn
ing proofs away, spread them before
her, and pointed to them with one rigid
finger, like the hero in dreadful melo-
drama. "Look there!" he said.
Carry stared blankly, first at the pa
pers and then at him. A wild fear en-
tered her eyes. She thought him sud-
denly insane.
Jack grew impatient. He moved that
index finger under the words "Dear
Hem
Z" Woman! Who is he?'
Carry's face changed again. She
drew her hand from Jacks grasp, threw
herself into chair, and shrieked with
laughter. She laughed beyond all
power of speech, and her husband stood
glaring at her in despairing amazement.
"Oh, Jack!" she gasped, as soon as
her breath served. sob, dear! OH"
And then she laughed again, till the
tears streamed down both cheeks.
"Wait min-ute-ohi till can-stop
oh, jack"
He sat down in another chair, with
an expression of agonized patience, that
seemed to inspire his wife with fresh
bursts of laughter. But at last she found
breath to speak.
"Ok, jack What a blessed old idiot
you are. Here! Read that" And she
pushed over to him, across the corner Of
the table, the same mysterious document
he had taken from the letter-box two
days before. But it was open now, and
showed two letters, one of which was I'm.
folded and brief enough, and ran thus
DEAR MRS. PENN: She has accepted me
at last! / am the happiest fellow in Ameri-
ca. enclose a letter left at the Office fol-
you, and send a few Of your favorite flow
ers to celebrate the day. Wish me joy. Fol
1 know you rejoice. Yours faithfully,
III. L. PLATT.
"My dear old boy" said the still
! shaking Carry. as she crept on to Jack ;.