Alpena weekly argus. [volume] (Alpena, Mich.) 1871-1893, 1888-11-14
A BORROWED FARE.
How an Indignant Parent Paid
His Daughters Debt.

M. Aristides Dufour, retired mercer,
widower with one daughter, is seated
In his dining-room, near set table, at
which from time to time he throws q
despairing glance. He holds his paper
before him, but it is scarcely probable
that he reads 1t, for he has held il upside
down for good minute and has not
yet discovered his mistake. Behind
bis green spectacles. the ex-mercer's
impatient, preoccupied glance falls ten
times to the minute on the old china
cuckoo clock, which, without hurrying,
without tagging, goes on its quiet way
and repeats its monotonous tic-tac.
Then the aforementioned glance falls
again on the turccn in which the soup
Is growing cold. And his glance grows
tender, as his nostrils are assailed by
the appetizing vapors that escape from
beneath the lid.
There are two covers at the table,
and two chairs extend their backs in
vitingly TO the diners. NJ. Dufour is
waiting for some one, some one who
makes him wait. But, like the late
Louis the CONCENTRATION he resem-
bles, perhaps, in this partiular alone
the ex-mercer does not enjoy this, es-
pecially when the companion OF his
vigil is a repast which has nothing to
gain from such delay. Promptness at
table, rs in business. is his hobby; he is
no longer in business, the worthy man,
but he still eats. Breakfast and dinner
are, TO him, so many notes OF hand,
coming in at fixed hours, and which he
must honor as he would his signature.
At those hours NJ Aristides Dufour fills
his stomach, dutifully, conscientiously,
with the same punctuality that he form
erly observed when he emptied his
strong box on the fifteenth and thirtieth
days OF the month.
And when you know that the cuckoo
clock Is on the point OF sounding half
past six, you can form an approximate
idea Of the violent state in which M.
Aristides Dufour, retired mercer, Wild
over, with a single daughter, found
himself at the opening Of this verac-
lous history; and especially since he has
been waiting for his daughter, before
sitting down TO table, since five minutes
before six o'clock.
Never, since M. Dufonr retired from
business Chat is to say, since he had
the misfortune TO lose his incompatible
wife, Nine. Celine Defour, born Bobi-
chon, who was, at the same time, his
clerk and his partner) had such a catas-
trophe fallen upon his peaceful house.
Not TO have tasted his desert at half
past six!-for that hour was about TO
strike, 1t was striking, IL had struck.
Half-past six! The little door OF the
rustic clock has opened wide, the mock
Ing-bird, tapping his wings, has hurled
out his cuckoo" in particularly
lronical voice.
To see, for forty-fve minutes past, an
excellent soup losing all its good quail
ties at few feet away. and, In the bar
gain, not TO known what good, or bad
bis dear little Charlotte was doingl-
Il was cruel torture, In which, to an
guish OF the heart, was added cramps
OF the stomach. Never had NJ. Defour
been so near TO compromising sui
cide's motives His glance, now be-
come little wild. wandered over the
table, vaguely seeking among the
knives, the forks and the spoons the
instrument with which he would
put an end 10 this horrible suspense.
AT this moment, Gertrude. the old
servant, monsieur's cook and mademoi-
sellc's maid, a veritable female factotum,
enters. grumbling. into the dining
room.