The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1885-11-05
"TU.AT MITT.o

Eugene Sylves ire, tall, well propor-
toned, blonde, and mustached, stood
with watchful, albeit rather sleepy
looking. eyes near crowded corner
of State street in our busy, bustling,
well bepraised city. He was leaning,
with a languid grace, peculiar to his
kind, against one of those aesthetic
posts impressed of late years into the
postal service of our country, and as
he leaned there he softly hummed a
verse of which the only audible words
were "good night, ladies'"
The young and talented gentleman
here introduced aCdS a gentleman,
courteous, brave, and kind, and one of
fortunes favorite sons. He was also
the city editor of The Morning scoop
enlalp. most brilliant and influential of
our city journals, and he was in that
particular place at this particular time
in patient search after that thing which
his soul loved-an item.
The sun was shining with almost
southern intensity, and Sylvestre, who,
l should have told you, was of south
ern birth, had only TO close his eyes a
little more than usual and stand near
one of Italia's palatial pomological
emporiums to be transported, Aladdin
like, to his childhood's home, had he
so willed it.
In the throng of pedestrians and the
hurrying of vehicles this cynical young
man saw nothing that to his intelli-
gent eve was more than an Oft-told
tale. He continued his observations
from force of habit, or, rather, from
that instinct born with the rightful
member of the fourth estate. He stood
''as one who slept and dreamed; all
things to him unreal seemed" when,
10! one of those fortunes that favor the
brave. A rustling of silks, tapping
of tiny boot-heels, a gay but subdued
chime of charming laughter, bewil-
dering glimpse of scarlet ips and eyes
that suggested black velvet and black
diamonds, all those distracting things
in fact that have disturbed the peace
of men since Lilith, first beloved,
dawned on Adam. 1t was but q mo-
ment, and the vision had passed him
before cur hero had fairly opened his
eyes. His mind was for once rippled,
and like some inspired IDIOT it
feeble interInixed girls and houris and
other NEUROLOGICAL absurdities. Had
he. the ubiquitous reporter for long,
long days and weeks, who had worn
out innumerable pairs of shoes tramp
ing the city from end to end until his
present dignity was fairly won-could
he have dwelt within knowledge of
that thing of loveliness and failed to
make her his by right of discovery?
Out with the thought. She must be 4
stranger, perhaps Il Peri from the gate
of Eden wandering disconsolate.
In fact, the passers-by were two very
good-looking Chicago girls (tEey
would have been rare beauties else
where), but, by the bow of Cupid, one
had he seen. and only one, and she
had fired his southern soul. He
started forward in time to catch the
last glimmer of silk as she passed into
the dry-goods palace on the corner,
then with a sigh was sinking back into
his old, restful position (Sylvestre was
born tired), when, oh, rapture! there
at his feet lay a dainty kid mitten.
"Sdeath!' CSdeath, oh, uninitiated
into the mysteries of newspaperdom,
is the customary ejaculatory utterance
of the well-formed newspaper man of
the nineteenth century,
"Sdeath!'' he calculated. 1t was
hers. Instinct told him that. He
seized it with even more avidity than
if il had been an item, and, with heart
exultingly beating, he hastily followed
the ladies into the busy hive, where
people were packed ''like pickles in :,
jar" Upstairs and il the basement,
glowering at the cash-boys and forget
ting to smile on the lady clerks. from
aisle to aisle, he pursued his fruitless
search, forgetful of the fact that it was
corner store with doors on two
streets. Exhausted with such labors
and the heat of the day, he muttered
a-vocabulary word, and reluctantly
abandoned the search, pocketed his
precious find" and betook himself to
his Office, here to seek forgetfulness in
his accustomed way.
The next morning, the columns of the
paper whose staff he so brilliantly
ornamented, appeared conspicuously
this legend:
WANTED-The lady who yesterday lost
on State street, near -, q red-Stitched fur
trimmed, :ieece,lined kid mitt, will confer
favor on the finder by sending the other
oiS W - W, Ittty AcCOpptHtuD.
Pretty Miss Alice Bingham in her
own especial room next morning. sit.
ting bolt upright, with stare of as
tonishment read the above modest re
quest Alice was child of wealth.
fashion. and refinement. but she had q
brother, and in her moment of sur.
prise, we regret to say, her language
was modelled in that of this near rela.
tive. She said, with emphasis, too
well. he has gall'' Suddenly she
| leaned back In her chair and neal