The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1888-05-16
THE LADY IN GRAY.
BY WALTER COOPER.

notceS IN various Shapes tlaC, 'OWlnS
to circumstances, ETC., etc. but suct
has been my fate but once, and that wa:
the beginning of my romance.
Notwithstanding my observative habit
! must confess that there are moments
when lapse into periods of what might
be termed thinking back" and then
do not "observe more than half of what
I notice" 1t was in one of these moods
that left my home, and to this day
cannot re- all how reached the Brooklyn
Bridge on my way to New York, but
suddenly awoke from the reverie was
in and saw standing in front of me q
female figure. My gentlemanly instincts
awoke at once and sprang from the seat
I had occupied and with touch of my
hat said: Beg pardon-take my seat. D."
The lady, for she wasa lady, any one
could see 1t in moment, rs she wore a
hat that you could look over the top of,
and you could pass around her without
disturbing her rearward drapeiy, looked
at me in half-sad, half-quizzical man
ner, and as at the same moment the
shadow of the New York terminus came
over the car, and I realized that we had
reached our journeys end, am satisfied
that blushed, and said again: II beg
your pardon. Twas preoccupied.
She bowed to me and smiled in sad
way, as much as to say she did not doubt
me, and we went our several ways. 1
was not so distrait when I went
down the stairs leading to Park
Row, as not to observe that she crossed
the foot bridge leading to the park.
In the confused moment that had to
look at her my usual observative habit
came into play, and I noticed. that she
wore gay stuff dress, not at all new,
but well cared for and neat, and not so
tight in the arms rs to pull out in the
ba:k, and while she had on the usual
brown kid gloves, the backs could be
plainly seen through the stitching. and
the finger ends were neatly darned and
showed long and constant wear.
went through my duties that day ip
an entirely mechanical manner, and was
somewhat surprised when the city edi-
tor said:
"What the deuce is this you have
been writing about gray dress2"
/ hasteaed to his desk and looking
over my copy said:
~ II meant it for great Distress" and
with grim look he said:
"Why didn't you write it so2" and I
went away sore at heart, for am rather
proud of my copy" and know that the
typos like to set it, as it is so clear.
/ did not know that had been think
ing of gray dress, but it seems that
had, and as | crossed the bridge that
night-it was nearly midnight--IIo looked
in vague way tor gray dress, which
did not appear, and l let myself in my
home with feeling that l had missed
something. After that night seemed to
live in gray atmosphere. The ha y
days of Indian summer had come, to lie
followed by the misty ones of the close
following winter.
It grew to be habit Of mine to time
my bridge trip as nearly as could to the
time when / nrst saw her. scanned tine
faces on the platform before entered the
cars. invariably secured seat, in the
hope that might give it up to her. At
length l had my reward. It was over a
month slice had seen her, but finally
she entered a full car where I was
seated. at once arose and said:
please accept my seat before we get
over this time" She smiled, bowed and
blushed as though she also remembered
our first meeting, and not a word was
said until we reached the New York
side, when, as We left the car, I said to
her:
II do not wish you to think me rude,
but have been looking for you for over
a month to apologize to you for my
seemingly rude conduct to you the first
time met you. DO you remember it?'
q She SAID with smile:
"Very we'll, indeed. I did not at the
time think you in: ended any iudeness;
but imagined you were thinking of
something, and had only walked up to
the fact that you were upon the bridge
when we were nearly over it."
1.said that had often thought of the
day, and had hoped the day would come
when could see her and tell her that
only intended to act as a gentleman, and
not to call attention to her. as she might
have thought, and as had seen others
do, who kindly oger their seats to ladies
after finishing their own journey in the
street cars.
She said: 81 did not look at it at all in
that light, for I rea ly do not believe you
knew where you were when you spoke to
me-"
"How long ago it seems" I said.
"Have you any idea when it was2'
"Oh, yes, perfectly. 1t was on the
25th of October. I wrote it in my diary
and beside it was my birthday"
All this while l had been walking be-
side her, and then / said: "Will you be
offended if I walk with you as far as you
are goinga"
"Not at ALL" she said. "I am only
going on the next block, where work
in bookbindery."
She looked up at me with honest eyes,
and they were gray too, like the dress
she wore, the first ono saw her in, and
when we reached the door OF the tall
factory tore sheet from my memoran-
DUN book and wrote m5 name upon it
with my address, asked her if she
would feel offended if waited to see her
on the other side of the river the next
morning and she told me Mot at all
Then said:
"Whom will I meet"
She gave me another of her wholly
sweet aad half-sad smiles and handle
p me neatly written card, evidently done
bv her own hand, which read; "Eunice
Gray, Clermont avenue. Brooklyn"
h walked on air that day and toll was
pleasure, and when it fell to my lot to
write something about collision be-
tween an ice. cart and horse-car, in
which an old lady was killed, the matter