The Red Cloud chief., 1879-04-17
MATS LUCK.

"It's just my luck!" said Mat. "Con.
found It'll"
He walked gloomily to the window
and looked Out-on the vivid green OF
the crOquet lawn, on white and red roses
clustering about the porch; on the old
rector, tending his favorite geraniums
In the distance, amid a blaze Of sunshine
and glow of color. Mat longed to be
with him-the somber room seemed to
be as oppressive as a cage.
He threw open the French windows,
drew a long breath and thrust his fin
gers into the pockets of his shooting
coat, falling naturally into a careless,
lounging attitude peculiar to him. The
fingers came in contact with a note and
idly brought it to light. It was adj
dressed, in a woman's handwriting, to
matthew Curtis, ESQ.,, M. d." A
grim smile played about hat gentle
mans lips as he reflected how unsuited
was that formal superscription to the jo-
vial, reckless good-for-naught, known
to rich and poor for miles around as
young Mat Curtis.
With a ~listless air he drew forth the
brief inclosure. His face darkened as
ne perused 1t.
"Miss Agnes Bellue would be glad to
have a few minutes conversation with
Mr. Curtis"
"Lover-like-very!" commented Mat,
with sarcastic emphasis.
Another glance at the delicate paper
and the firm square handwriting, the
dark look hardening the while, until the
character of the face seemed completely
altered.
"Look at it," quoth Mat. "Her
hand never trembled; there is not a
wavering stroke! Why, most girls
would cry their eyes out while writing
such a note as that to their lovers!"
He crushed the offending missive into
a crumpled ball as he spoke, and ad-
dressed a few more unapostolic exple-
tives to the fair neutrality-suspicious.
peculiarly unbefitting a clergyman's
study, or the hearing of the young lady
who no~iselessly entered in time indis-
tinctly to catch them.
YOung-not more than twenty, per.
haps-but with a serene and oueenly
grace of movement, a gravely beautiful
face-an air just now of naughty dis
gust.
"Pardon me-" she says, Jelly, $50
interesting q conversation with your
self is probably of a confidential ma
ture."
Mat turns with a flaming face, a quick,
d~eprecating gesture, a courteous, apollo
getic bow and speech that somehow in
their confused humility stamp him as a
gentleman.
81 trust, indeed, you did not hear il.
! earnestly a forgiveness if you
did,"
She contemptuously dismisses the
matter with the slightest wave of a little
jeweled hand. Cold, hard, proud, She
looks, and her words have a clear-cut
articulation suggestive of newly clipped
coins.
81 sent for you"
"Yes," answers Mat, deiantly. His
penitence is dying away-the dark,
hard expression is returning. "Just
my luck!" 1t seems to repeat.
"To beg an answer to three ques-
tions." continues Miss Bellue.
Mat bows, thrus:s his hands into the
deep shooting-pockets once more, and
resumes the careless, lounging attitude.
"Have you entered your name, not
w~ithstanding my protest, as q gentle
man-rider for the autumn steeple-
chases?"
"Yes.n
"Have you, in truth, gone back to
the old habit of dropping into the
:~.Barleycorn' two or three nights in the
week to" chow superb was the ring of
scorn in her voice!) "drink ale and
smoke in company with the Doors
there2"
eyes," repeats Mat, sturdily.
"Is it, indeed, true that, on leaving
that inn last night, you involved your.
self in q poaching ARRAY, actually knock
ing down q keeper and helping one of
The poachers to escape?"
EYES," said Mat, with q kind of sui
EN- despair.
Miss Bellue draws something from
1er white fingers, and holds t out.
Mechanically Mats hand comes out of
he shooting-pocket and grasps it. 1t is
woman,s engagement ring. J
They look at each other, q curious
ontrast in the two faces. Hers COM
eosed, calm, haughtily Indifferent. His ]
astonished. angry, agitated, by
Irns.
"Not-not that, Agnes!" he pleads, ,
II