The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1882-08-24
Called His Bluff,
[ohicago Tribune.l
an Won not answer me, Gwendolen?9

mCsn Won not answer me, Gwendolen?"
Tn from the meadows on the soft breezes Of
usrfeet June evening were waited the faint
perfume of the cowslip and of dead horse,
and as George w. Simpson and Gwendolen
Mahaffy stood near the gate, whose decrepit
appearance told with more eloquence than
could mere words of the deathless passion that
enslaved their souls, both felt that Crisis IN
their lives had arrived moment had come
which would in the misty future that stretched
away before them, like one of William M. EV-
arts letters, be either bright beacon OF nope
and ioy TO look back upon with gadness, or a
desolate landmark like the lightning riven
trees that one never beholds without a feeling
of sadness. Secure in the consciousness OF his
own roer;t-that sterling merit which always
lias in a strong arm, clear brain and large feet
and vet. with modest diffidence concerning
his own worth, the young man stood there in
the cleaning with half reluctant cat on-the-
back-fence ex preston that lent an added beau
ty to his pure, young face, and more pleading
" tended the earnest, father is-coming-up-the-
'front.' steps look with which he regarded the
beautiful girl who stood by his side. He had
asked her to be his wife-to leave parents, sis
tiers, brothers, and all the endearing influences
of happy, Chris ian home where two girls
kept, and go out with him into the wide world
as q helBmeet and companion. He had told
in fervent sentences, of the great love he bore
her-a love that would ever be the guiding star
of his life, he said, cheering him when the
black clouds of adversely and despair hung
heavily in the horizon of his hopes, without
which his whole exis ence would be one arid,
trackless waste on which lay the whited skele-
tons of Ambition and Hope-ghastly remnants
of life whose final wreck was all the more sad
because of the happiness which it might have
held had Love not flown away with hooking
laugh when pleaded with so passionately.
TWhen it came to ornamental lying, with
two rows of huting up the back, George
took first money.
Gwendolen had stood in graceful poise as he
spoke, one ear thrown slightly forward and her
right foot covering the-door mat, and, low
that he had finished, was looking down IN
maiden shyness, while the rosy blnshes that
chased each other Under her dazzling complex
ion would have told, if anybody sould have
seen them, of the emotions that were agitating
her young soul. But no words came from her
lips-those rosy-ripe pc tails that opened with
such languid grace when there was pie IN the
house-and George began to fear that perhaps
he had talked her to sleep. Presently, how,
ever, she drew quite close to him, put her hand
in his, and, resting her cheek upon his shoul-
der, she said: eyes, George, l will marry
you"
"But when?" asked the young man, horri-
BILE fear that his bluff was to be called chilling
his very blood.
81 will marry you," repeated Gwendolen,
''when bicycle rider is elected President"
Turning away to hide his emotion, George
muttered, in low, practical tones: 'Thank hea-
ven, l am safe.