The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1877-04-23

banker, "The Man with an Aneursm" in
vested his money in the name and for the
benefit of his wife in certain securities that
paid him small but regular stipend. But
he still continued upon the boards of the
theatre.
By reason Of some business engagements
that called me away from the city, did net
see my friend the physician for three months
afterwards. When 1 did, L asked tidings of
The Man with an Aneurism. The doctors
kind face grew sad. ''Tm alraid-that is,
don't exactly know whether I've good news
or bad. Did you ever see his wife?'
never had.
''Well, she was younger than he, and rath-
er attractive-one of those doll.faced women.
You remember he settled that life insurance
policy on her and the children; she might
have waited She didn't. The other day
she eloped with some telllow-I don't re-
member his name-with the children and
the $1,000"
"And the shock killed him. 1 said, with
poetic promptitude.
"No--that is-not yet; l saw him yester-
day." said the doctor with conscientious pro-
fessional precision, looking over his list of
calls.
"Well, where is the poor fellow now?'
"Hes still at the theater. James. if these
powders are called for you'll find them here
in this envelope. Tell Mrs. Blank I'll be
there at land she can give the baby this
until l come. Say there's no danger. These
women are an awful bother! Yes, he's at
| the theatre yet. Which way are you going?
Down town? Why can't you step into my
carriage and I'll give you lift, and We'll
| talk on the way down? Well, he's at the
| theatre yet. And -and-do you remember
| the Destruction of SeRnacherib" No?
| Yes you do. You remember that woman in
| pink, who pirouetted in the famous ballet
scene? You don't? Why yes you do.
| We'll, / imagine, of course don't know-its
| only summary diagnosis, but 1 imagine that
| our friend with the aneurism has attached
himself to her,"
doctor, you horrify me-"
"There are more things, Mr.. Poet, in heav
en- and earth than are yet dreamt of in your
philosophy. Listen. My diagnosis may be
| wrong, but that woman called the other day
at my Office to ask about him, his health and
general condition. l told her the truth-and
she tainted. 1t was about as dead a faint as
| 1 ever saw; was nearly an hour in bringing
her out Of it. Of course 1t was the heat Of
| the room, her eXertions the preceding week,
and prescribed for her. Queer, wasn't it !?
| Now, if were a writer and had your faculty
I'd make something out of that"
| "But how is his general health%'
| so, about the same. He can't evade what
Il
was up here the other day. Why, the pull
sation was plain-why, the entire arch of the
aorta-What, you get out here? Good BY"
Of course no moralist, no man writing for a
sensitive and strictly vrtuous public could
further interest himself in this man. So
dismissed him at once from my mind and re-
turned to the literary contemplation of virtue
that was clearly and positively defined, and
| of Sin, that invariably commenced with a
L fol 1attar OF This in II,
condition, lowering on the verge of eternity,
should allow himself to be attracted by-but
it was horrible to contemplate.
Nevertheless, a month afterward, I was re-
turning from a festivity with my intimate
friend Smith, my distinguished friend job
ling, my most respectable friend Robinson,
and my wittiest friend Jones. It was clear,
starlit morning, and we seemed to hold the
broad, beautiful avenue to ourselves, and I
fear we acted as if it were SO. As we hlari.
ously passed the corner of Eighteenth street
coupe rolled by, and suddenly heard my
name called from its gloomy depths.
81 beg your PARDON" said the doctor, as
the driver drew up on the sidewalk, ''but I've
some news for you. Pve just been to see our
poor friend.-Of course was too late. He
was gone in fash"
"What, dead?"
GAS Pharaoh! In an instant, Just as !
sald You see the rupture took place in the
descending arch Of"
"But doctorw
'Ifs queer story. Am keeping YOU
from your friends? No? Well, you see she
that woman I spoke of-had written note
to him based on what I had told her. He
got it, and dropped in his dressing room dead
as herring"
Show could she have been so cruel, know
ing bis condition; she might with woman's
tact have rejected him less abruptly
eyes, but you are wrong. By Jove, she
accepted him was willing to marry him."
"What?"
"Yes-don't you see9 1t was ioy that
killed him. Cad, we never thought of that
Queer, amt it? See here, don't ysu think
you might make story out of it %
"But, doctor, it hasn't got any moral"
"Humph! that's so. Good morning.
Drive on, John.''