Iron County register. [volume] (Ironton, Iron County, Mo.) 1867-1965, 1883-10-11

person in the telegraph office, thrust
ing her head through the window to
inspect him.
.'Hooray" cried tbs small bows, with
| juvenile instinct of enthusiasm and de-
rision blended
Mr.. Mulooly removed the pipe from
his lips, and unable to recognize any
reason why 4 cat may not look at a
king, calculated, with Celtic humor, a
single word-Bedadr'
The train rushed on once more, the
phaton disappeared along the village
| street, and Gordonville resumed its US
ual avocations.
Cowper had returned home after his
second European tour. That was the
note rung through many changes on
| this eventful day even the pony s
hoofs. trotting soberly homeward, were
IN unison with the cadence humming in
the ears of his young mistress. Cow
| per had been intensely English on the
| first occasion. while a few moments in
his company now revealed fine flavor
of the Boulevards, the Champs Elysees
and the Bots de Boulogne. The month
was June, the meadows were green,
and the warm breeze was perfumed by
| the wild flowers of the hillside, while
I the twin rows of elm trees shading the
main street. pride of Gordonville. wore
a first delicate foliage of early summer.
| Iris awaited recognition of familiar OBJ
| Jects, but none came.
"You drive well,' said Cowper, in
| his languid accents. why do we turn
to the right instead of TO the left9 The
| English always turn the left, while the
Il oh IL -r-1+
Now we are of English descent"
Iris laughed. but her gray eyes grew
| dim beneath their long and silky lashes.
Have you forgotten the factory,
COwper ?'' she inquired, with q certain
sharpness in her tone, Indicating long
building with her whip.
LAS if we could ever forget it!'' re-
torted Cowper. peevishlv, and with I'M
deniable ingratitude. since all the
money in his purse had been CLEANED
from this ignoble source.
He again fitted the glass IN his eve.
and surveyed the building with the cool
and studied disapproval which was his
usual expression. especially in his
native land. He belonged to the class
of young men which is the fine flower
of this century, and may be designated
as without nationality, cultivating efsnuj
as a mood, Vacuity as an expression,
and a general useleSsness in existing at
all as q profession. Irascible elders are
wont to classify this golden youth rs
''snipS. when not resorting to stronger
terms of comparison. In the present
case the factory stared back at Cowper
De5enham with clang of machinery,
sharp peal of bells, putfs of steam from
pipes. and rows of twinkling little win
dows, as if rejoicing like a giant in
strength and vitality, and with an odor
of hot oil inseparable from its activity.
Clearly the factory, where were fash
Toned axles and plows, had the best of
it on the peaceful June day, for Cowper
Debenham could not have existed with
out it, while the great hive of industry
would have hummed and throbbed on
just the same without him. Lofty con-
ceit is perceptible in the golden youth
returning home to Russia, TO England
and Ireland. to Italy. and even to
America from foreign parts. The
Frenchman alone expands in his
beloved Paris, centre of the uni
verse, after exile in other lands.
where the pretty French actress pines
with hunger on Regent Street, scorning
roast beef. according to sympathetic
critics, and the Gallo tenor Iaments his
favorite dishes in the columns of
Figaro. in such bowling wildernesses as
New York. Cowper Debenham bore
such a fresh impress of his brand. so to
speak. that Mrs. Bemrose was awed into
comparative silence, and Iris found her
self indisposed to harmless prattle.
Where is John?' demanded the new
arrival, at the gate.
Why did Iris manifest sudden interest
III giving her pony sugar from her
pocket
John should be here" replied Mrs
Bemrose. He is such a busy fellow,
you know. Iris will make one of her
famous strawberry short-cakes for your
supper. dear boy
Iris is very kind" said Cowper.
slowly. You dine early. of course. I
have been dining at eight o'clock re-
Gently
Eight o'clock in the evening" cried
Mrs. Bemrose.
Yes; that is rather late" admitted
Cowper. Half past seven is a better
hour for the theater and opera; the
Prince of Wales intends to adopt it."
Mrs. Bemrose was stupefied. As for
Iris. q sensation of cold pervaded her
frame. ike tHe SuuUcu DTedlu Oh al
autumn wind.
What is that-thing?" exclaimed
Cowper, pausing on the gravel-path.
Iris raised her head defiantly.
MY fountain, designed by Gordon
vile genius, and John had it placed
here for me. Is it not pretty-the Gu
pid holding a shell for the falling wa
ter2r
Cowper raised his eyebrows and
shoulders.
"A pink monster, a fat baby, my
dear Iris. What horror to have under
ones eyes! I rejoice that my rooms are
on the other side of the house"
You must not abuse my cupid, said
Iris, quickly
''What nonsense are you talking. 0
returned traveler?' said clear voice.
The fountain is 4 very pretty thing.
You could not design as good to save
your life
Such was the greeting of John Cleaver,
natural and n CpiH of