Arizona weekly enterprise., 1882-10-07
THE YORKE BEACH.

'1t's somebody with name six sylla. bles long," said the landlord, looking into the lining of his coarse straw hat, as if he expected to find the trouble some epithet there. ''It ain't profess or, nor yet philosopher, nor pedes trian'-with gasp at each of the hard words-''but it's something that begins with P. And he's hunting for shells all sorts of queer, outlandish shells, as isn't to be come across every day.
 Do telln' said the landlords wife. Perhaps he's. going to grind them into fertilizing powder, or macadamize Q road with them"
 ''Then he's an editor," said Mrs. Stubbs.
 "'Tain't quite that, neither," said Mr. Stubbs, slowly. ''But it's some- thing very wise and learned. So I told him he'd better go to Yorke's. The young woman there has mortal nice collection of out-of-the-way shells. And I've heard of their selling shells to them as fancied them, for all they're such high-toned gentlefolks.
 That had been MT. Silas Stubbs' ad- vice, and MT. Cleve, the paleontologist, had taken it, and was even walking along the shingly beach, where the waves curled in foamy fringes almost up to his feet, and the trails of blackish seaweed showed the high-water mark.
 Judge Yorke-he had been judge, no- body knew how many years ago, of some petty court in Southern city, be- fore the Yorke estate had melted in the fiery furnace of litigation, and he had fled northward in search of the business which never came-sat out on the tum- ble-down veranda with the air of an exiled prince. He was white-haired and rubicund-visaged,a and his slippers were down at the heels, and his red cashmere dressing-gown was patched with quite different pattern, and his wristbands were frayed, and the lack of buttons on his shirt-front was made good with pin. But when he saw the stranger lift the latch of the rickety gate he advanced to meet him with a patronizing urbanity which was little short of overwhelming. He listened to Mr. Cleve's sself-introduction with a roy al smile; he welcomed him as if the old house were palace; he made haste to 1HbIOOdCC HllL4 LO 4OIhCs
 Mrs. Yorke was tall, golden-haired young woman, with her lovely tresses tucked untidily into a net, her dress de- cidedly the worse for wear, and her ex- quisite face burned by the impress of the sun and wind. But the flash of hel brilliant blue eyes was like sunshine it self.
 twill the gentleman stay to dinner?' Mrs. Yorke asked the judge; "becaust we have only some porgies and sam ] phire. But if he cares for such simple fare, he is welcome"
 Mir. Cleve accepted the simply giver invitation. The judge was like piece of old porcelain-cracked and damag. ed, it might be, but still genuine. Mrs l Yorke was beauty. but quite young enough, the guest decided, to be hel husbands granddaughter; and, besides he wanted to k ow what on earth DOT gies and samphire could be.
 There was no carpet on the dining room floor, and the windows needed cleaning; but the china was fine, an( they had some blackberries, early ap pies, and few fine apricots in a centre piece of silver, with "Y'' engraved ol the handles; and Mir. Cleve discovered the porgies were coarse-grained fisl with good deal of bone to them; alst that samphire was a gelatinous vegeta ble, not unlike grass, which was gather ed on the sea-beach and boiled with but ter and vinegar.
 An old negress, whom Cleve mental ly decided must be at least a hundre years of age, waited, and kept off tn flies with a brush of peacock's plume;
 ''Sheils? Yes, there were fine shells the judge believed, "along the coas Mrs. Yorke knew-Mrs. Yorke coul tell him. Paleontology was a stud which must always com-mend-i self" And the judge fell blandly an courteously asleep, with smile on hi face.
 Mrs. Yorke laughed.
 He's very old," said she, indiferen "; che often does that. Don't min him. Did you say you wanted to bu shells? will try and have some coliec ed for you by this time tomorrow"