The Columbian. [volume] (Bloomsburg, Pa.) 1866-1910, 1878-10-18
Select Story.
THE SUMNER VACATION.

so you're doing the fashionable at Sylvan,
George" said Mr.. Montiesor.
well, sir. I've a two weeks vacation
said George Sinclair, rather abashed at
meeting his employer in the grounds of the
Sylvan Hotel, and thought a little change
oh, Pve no objection at ALL said Mr..
Montiesor, kindly. Il hope you'll enjoy
it,
George Sinclair was clerk at a salary of
nine hundred year but, like many New
York clerk, he had craving after the for
hidden delights of what he termed 'tip.top
fashionable society And Kitty Barker, his
fancee, trim little damsel, who stood be-
hind tho counter of a fashionable fancy store
all day, and tried to add to the little sum
laid aside for her wedding outfit by doing
fine silk embroidery at night, admired his
spirit and enterprise.
1t never occurred to her that it might per-
haps be as well for him to save his money
towards the furnishing of the ideal home
they had SO often talked about, instead of
aplng the airs and graces of those who could
so much better afford to make fools of them
selves than he could.
George has such refined tastes, said Kitty,
who believed devoutly in her lover.
As MIR. Sinclair walked along the broad
graveled path shaded by the tent-like boughs
OF majestic old white pines, lady dressed in
white, with a black lace shawl festooned
scarf-tashion over her shoulders, met him
face to face, coming around the turn OF the
walk. And at the same moment some friend.
ly emissary of old Boreas caught the hat from
her head, dainty toy of white chip, gar
landed with French daisies, and carried it
half way down the hill.
In au instant MrSinclair had given chase,
recovered the tlimsy concern, and restored it
to the blushing owner, with bow worthy of
Sir Walter Raleigh himself
I'm so much obliged to you, 'simpered the
lady.
'Oh, not at ALL said Mr.. Sinclair.
And he passed on.
Halo, old chap, you're in luckp cried
Mr.. Beman, of the great New York firm of
Sweister Co., who was cut out of the same
general pattern as our friend GeorgeSinclsir.
And he gave the latter a facetious poke with
the end of his ivory-topped cane. wish |
was gone, ell, Sinclair?
i am always delighted to be of use to
lady, said Sinclair little stiffly
And such a lady, said Beman. DO you
know who she is?
No. Do you?
Don't /? She's Miss Moneyford-old
Moneyford's daughter that owns the Baby-
lonish palace up in Wallace's avenue The
only child, with a clear income Of twenty
thousand year of her ownr
How do you know? When did you see
herr breathlessly demanded Sinclair.
Never saw her at all That's the joke of
the matterP chuckled Beman. But have
seen the thread-lace shawl. Twenty-Five
hundred dollars sold it myself to the old
gentleman as birthday gift for her. And
knew she was expected at Lake Sylvan
about this time. say, old fellow, wouldn't
it be jolly you should marry the heiressY
Hope you won't forget to invite me to the
wedding ?
Sinclair stalked on, in lofty disregard of
his companions ill-bred insinuations' But
alter ll,they were not so impossible. Stran.
ger things have happened. Prosperous mar.
rriges had sprung out of slighter foundations
than these. And the heiress had certainly
smiled very sweetly upon him as she receiy.
ed the daisy-wreathed hat at hsi hands If
only he hadn't been such fool as to 20 and
engage himself to Kitty Barker.
That same afternoon he met the lady on
the shores of the lake. She was gracious and
smiling-he was anxiously respectful-apd
the upshot of it was that the next day they
went boating together.
How delightful is nature sighed the la.
dy.
see, Miss Moneyford, said George, that
our souls are cast in congenial mood. Nav
you need not looked surprised; / have dis
covered your ipcognitop
Mr.. Sinclsirp
And they grew quite confidential together,
gliding along the translucent current beneath
the shadow of the trees.
Seven o'clock 1t can't be possible 7 cried
the wearer of the thread lace shawl. Really
Mr.. Sinclair, you must be magician to
while the time SO swiftly away
George Sinclair sat and pondered long in
his seven by-nine room In the top story of
Sylvan Hotel, while he smoked his cigar.