The Penn's Grove record., 1885-08-15
THIRTEEN.

am n Jealous man. There Is no use
N attempting to deny it: but tonight
there will be, there al be, no one OF
whom | need be jealous. Lord Mao
Phoebe certainly-bu6-
Here Jenkyns throws open the draw
ing room door and announces me: MIR.
Trevor"
"Oh, Trevor. how dye do" says my
host, laying his hand on my shoulder.
l shrink inwardly from his touch, but
I smile politely; for though | hate the
old man, l love his daughter.
81 believe we shall be thirteen, =" he
goes on. "Kent has failed us at the last
moment. But you don't mind, do you?''
/ protest, l have not the slightest OBJ
lection.
"No, / thought not,'' says Mr.. Bell
airs. with a horrid smile-in anyone else
but his daughters father, a disgusting
leer. Superstition is the last thing
you young men go in for nowadays,
eh?n
/ assent to this original proposition.
"Somebody was saying, just before
you came in, that Trevor fought shy of
thirteen at dinner. But you say you
don't?"
From my old nurse l imbibed many
curious 5uperstitious horrors, of which
I have never been able to rid myself,
but how can | confess it to this ogre?
l boldly deny any such weakness, and,
to my unutterable relief, he moves
away.
1t is a marvel to me how such a mon
ster can have such a daughter as Eve
Ign. l think to myself her mother must
have been an angel of beauty and go d.
ness, and probably died of horror at a
nearer acquaintance with the ogre. |
am just..settling the question entirely to
my own satisfaction, when the door
opens. Though my back is turned, |
know it is Evelyn. She mods, and
smiles kindly as she passes me.
For the space of that second / breathe
the air of paradise. But she goes on
into the drawing room, and | hear her
greeting her guests, and laughing and
talking gaily. Then | see Lord Mac
Phoole that ~infatuous idiot, sltJlng by
her, and she Seems positively to enjoy
his weak jokes. He Is a horrid radical,
and to me they have "A low, democratic
flavor. What right has he to think he
may amuse a goddess with his feeble
WIFI From my Utmost soul l loathe the
facetiousfellow.
To add to my discomfort, those old
world superstitions ear their heads.
Never in my mind have | made one of
thirteen. OF course there is nothing in
it, l tell m6self. How could there be?
Nevertheless | grew more ill at ease.
ever proved jt7 And Evelyn says some
thing which makes MacPhoole laugh.
How a she condescend to be amused
with such AL empty creatures.
All joyl he is leaving her side with
some last joke, most likely as stale and
old as the hills. The chair next her is
empty. Why should not =?
Thinking to leap at once to heaven
from the place of torment, l rush into
the other room.
"Mr. Trevorl" cries a voice 1 have
heard called sweet. To me it is the
voice of an owl, a crow.
Taking not the slightest notice, 4
continue my way headlong. She secs
coming. Is it only flattering self
deception, OF does she smile with pleas
ureP AT this moment l feel some little
impeachment In my mad career.
sob, dear, Mr.. Trevor" l hear Miss
Fortescue cry. ''you have knocked down
my fan. Are you growing blindP"
Muttering snathemas on that hateful
fan, | pick il up and return it to her.
She then proceeds, 10 it seems to nv
excited imagination, to inquire minute
ly into the health of every member of
my family. | have always thought
myself a squire of danes, and Miss For
tesque is both beautiful and charming;
but nevertheless l feel that l could,
with cheerful alacrlty, apply the first
torch to her funeral pyre.
AT last she IS satisfied. l turn to
leave her, and behold that giggling
MacPhoole in the act of sitting down
again by E%velynl She only sent him for
a fire screen. Who but /, her bond
slave, should wait on her2 Who else
fetch her fire screens?
Freely, unreservedly do l consign
Miss Fortesque to outer darkness, there
to wander with her fan forever.
Unconscious of the horrible fate await
ing her, | hear her entertaining Lam
bert Kerr with accounts of a dance to
which she went last night. l sit des-
perately down by a small table and
open an album. On the first page |
behold the monster and Miss Fortesque.
Bangl | shut it and clasp il.
"Cheer up, Jack, old fellowf" a kind,
merry voice says close to my ear. "You
are to sit next but one to her at dinner.
| have been pumping Jenkyns."
chalmers, you are a triumph" | say
gratefully, as he sits down.
"You seem awfnlly down." he con-
leaning his elbow on the table.
SIS it that ass MacPhOole you are jeal-
Gus Of? Only a minute before you came
In | heard her compare his laughter to
the cracking of thorns under a pot
"Well," / allow, greatly relieved, "I
suppose she would like him,
but-hang it all, Chalmers, We are TO be
thirteenth
Sand what of that?" He stares at
me, and then bursts into an incredu-
lous laugh. "You don't mean to say
you are growing superstitious, Jaek2
Poor fellowl"
There is a note of eontemptuous pity
IN his tone, and really my fsncies do
seem absurd In a SANE man
mo, no." l say, ''but still you know :