The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1877-11-24
AN OLD GAME.

BUTTON! button! who's got the but
on?"
These words fell in hurried accents of
vexation from the cherry ripe lips of
Miss Lucy Ware, and were accompanied
by fairy like avalanche of fascinating
screams. She was just about to step
aboard the cars when she discovered her
loss.
80 dear! 1t was on when l started.
What can have become of it? | can never
match it in this world"
And she cast look of CONSERVATION
at the vacant place on her sacque, where
there should have been a large agate
button.
Why don't you look around for it,"
she demanded of her handsome cousin,
Gerald Wentworth, who was to see her
safely started on her journey.
He elevated his eyebrows at her i'm
perious tone, and scanned the ground at
her feet.
"Wbat are you looking at, Tom
Shelly? You'd better go back to your
greasy machine-shop, unless you can find
my button!"
Tom Shelly lifted his hat, bowed low
to conceal a shade of pain that passed
across his face, and walked away. He
had come to take last look at the des-
potic little beauty before she passed from
his vision, perhaps forever. She was
the incarnation to him of all that was
bright, winning sprightly and lovahle;
and after she was gone he would muse
and dream about her, when she, perhaps,
NlTT
sient thought on him as an atom among
her home "reminiscences.
Just then the warning whistle sounded,
and Miss Ware was compelled, sorely
against her will, to submit to her loss
and proceed on her journey.
She waved her handkerchief, Gerald
Wentworth waved his hat, and then the
latter overlook Tom Shelly.
She's a heightened little piece,
Shelly" he said
"Who? o yes! Miss Ware. She is
to be gone for long time, believer"
Cali winter"
clothes, and contrasted them with the
elegant suit of his companion.
"She's pretty proud, isn't she?"
Proud as Lucifer's sister.-it he had
one," laughed Wentworth. "Though
don't know as 1 ought to say that l
think a good deal of her myself"
"You do?"
Yes-she's my cousin, you know"
"She is very beautiful"
"And she knows it, too"
Tom was silent. He did not feel capa,
l. o Of, 90
he looked straight ahead, and planted his
heels on the pavement with vigor as he
stepped.
"They say you're the best man in
Cummings machine-shop, Shelly. How's
that?"
course the machine-shop and its
grease and dirtw exclaimed Shelly. 81
wish I'd chosen some more genteel bust
ness"
"Well, it isn't as neat as it might be,
to be sure. But still, when you get up
to the top it's all right, Look at Dun
ning-how he stands in the community.
He began by kindling the fires, you
know"
Here the two turned off in different
directions. Their brief conversation
passed from Wentworth's mind immedi-
atcly; but Tom remembered it, dwelling
and lingering on each word, and turning
it over and over in his mind. There was
no torture so delightful to him as to hear
Lucy Ware talked about, and to mediate
on whatever concerned her in near or re-
mote degree. He watched by stealth her
smiles, and was angry with all the world
because he could not resist the infatua-
ton. For he ought to have dismissed
her from his thoughts with contempt aft
er she refused one night to go to a con.
cert with him because he did not dress
we'll enough. He was wounded and cut;
but the circumstance did not bring COM
nonsense to his head. He sulked and
toiled, and hoped with miserable,
doubling hope, and pocketed his fifteen
dollars week, and was still an abject
slave.
Miss Ware was going to New York to
spend the winter with wealthy aunt,
and now he had her last words to think
ola command to go back to his greasy
old shop!
When he left the shop that night it
was to walk home with slow steps and
a thoughtful face. Nominations in
which there were CLEANS of sense, ener.
gy and purpose ran through his head.
He found supper waiting, and sat down
opposite his mother with an absent, pre-
occupied look.
"Are you tired, Toms"
"No, not particularly
"I thought you looked So"
Cumming began at the bottom, didn't
he, mother? And why can't | work up
to where he stands now? Yes, Went
worth was right. I'll do il"
"Do what, Tom?"
ooh, nothing-only I'm not going to
stand at the lathe all my life--l can tell
you that"
"Why, what's the matter, TomS Aren't
you doing very well now"
"No. Pm nothing hut greasy, be-
grimmed laborer But III make my mark
yet, or give up the ghost"