McCook weekly tribune. (McCook, Neb.) 188?-1886, 1883-10-18
A MAN THAT SUCCEEDED.

''My only daughter, sir" said Col
onel Monteagle. 'sAnd, as venture to
hope, accomplished in the way. We
are not much in the way of schools OF
academies here, but have been her in
structor myself, and she is thorough
mathematician, an excellent musician,
and linguist of no mean capacity. We
are studying Hebrew now every day,
she and |, and she devotes her evenings
to comprehensive reviews of her Latin
and Greek. She will be a scholar, sir,
if live to complete her education.
Mr.. Crofton looked curiously at the
oddly assorted pair-the silver-haired,
shabbily attired old gentleman, with
his bald forehead, eagle eye and deli
cately white hands; and the dark
browed, sullen looking girl, with a
gypsy skin, untidy frock and patched
boots. Pretty? Yes, she might be pref
ty under some circumstances. The dia-
mond itself is not. an attractive stone
before the lapidary's art has polished
its rude angles into glittering facets of
white fire. But she certainly possesses
no sweet, feminine graces now.
elbow old are you, Miss Monteagle?"
he asked, finding it imperatively neces-
sary to say something.
And Mary Monteagle answered in
words, ssseventeeen," while her looks
replied plainly, "None of your bust
ness"
$50, my child, and gather some flow
ers to deck our humble board" said
the old gentleman magniloquently,
while he conducted the son of his old
friend into the tumble-down old stone
house, where the carpets were moth
eaten, furniture widowed, and every
trace of decayed gentility told the sad
story of better days.
Mrs. Monteagle, who had been
beauty once, and had her portrait en-
graved in a "Gallery of American
Rosebuds,' was sitting up in state in a
battered boudoir in black silk dress
that must have been quite quarter of
a century old, with flower in her sill.
yer sprinkled hair, and still preserving
the girlish attitude in which the en-
graver's pencil had immortalized her,
oddly contrasting with the sharpened
outlines and haggard abruptness of her
sixty odd years.
And this was the way the old couple
lived, in the dead past as it were, Colo
mel Monteagle starving contentedly on
the recollection of his past grandeur,
and his wife fondly fancying that time
stood still since the days in which she
had been counted worthy to be one of
the american Rosebuds."
Mrs. Monteagle sweetly welcomed
her guest, and touched the little hand
bell at her side.
eve will dine, Sarepta," she said to
the maid.
"Please, ma'am," breathlessly ut
tered that young person, "there amt
nothin' for dinner. We eat the last of
the cold beef yesterday, and the dog he
tipped over the pan of oysters, and
s'Thatzwill do, Sarepta,'' said Mrs.
Monteagle, with red spot mounting to
each of her cheek bones. 81 said-we
will dine!"
And Sarepta withdrew with jerk.
The dinner was served presently an
instance of the magnetic power of will
but there was no cold beef, neither
were there oysters. Fruit, thin,
watery soup of herbs and parsley, taste
fully garnished salad of lettuce and
mayonnaise, and dish of peaches and
cream formed the meal.
"Quite Arcadian!" said Mrs. Mont
eagle, with giggle.
<sAnd very badly served" secretly |
Mr.. Crofton to himself. |
s'But the salad was nice.''
"Where is Mary?'' the colonel asked.
<sDrinking in the beauties of the sun
set, presume, the lady answered air
lily. 'sThe poor child has an artists |
soul, and we do not tie her down to any |
hours or rules
The colonel fell asleep in his chair
after dinner, Mrs. Monteagle and her
painted fan withdrew themselves into
the boudoir, and Mr.. Crofton, inwardly |
bewailing himself that he had promised |
to stay week at Monteagle manor,
sauntered out upon the heights which |
overlooked the valley below. AS he |
stood there rustling sounded in the
bushes and the dark browed gypsy |!
.sprang up the hillside.
"You have a fine place here, Miss
Monteagle,' he said, by way of making |
himself agreeable.
81 hate it," said Mary, darby.
"I-beg your pardon?" exclaimed
Mr.. Crofton in amazement.
81 dol" flashed the girl; 81 hate it |
all! The learning and the poverty land |
the grand pretenses and the miserable
make-shifts.'