The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1888-12-09

jealous face, and was reused TO a singular
indignation.
"Why hadn't this great fool vented his
jealousy on the openly compromising
Masters, 3" he thought.
| He even turned and walked back with
some vaguely aggressive instinct, but the
| young man had disappeared. With this in
cident still in his mind he came upon Uncle
| Ben aud Hiram Mckinstry, standing among
the spectators in the doorway. Why might
not Uncle Ben be jealous tool and if his
single waltz had really appeared so com
promising, why should not Cressy's father
| obiect9 But both men--albeit, McKinstry-
usually exhibited vague unreasoning con
tempt for Uncle Ben-were unanimous i'll
their congratulations and outSpoken admi-
ration.
| "When l seed you sail in, Mr.. Ford, ~
said Uncle Ben, with abstract re1sctiveness,
~ seq to the fellers, Lie low, boys, and
| you'll see style And when you put on
, them first steps, Rez, That's French-the
latest high-toned French styIe-outer the
best masters, aud-and outer the best books.
For whyn seq l. It's the same long, sliding
stroke you see in his copies. There's that
| long up sweep, and that easy curve to the
right with no hitch. That's the sorter swing
he hez in readin' po'try too. That's why it's
called the POETRY of notion seq l. And
! you ken bet your boots, boys, it's all in the
| trainin' o. education
"Mr Ford" said Mr.. McKinstry gravely
| slightly waving lavender-colored kid
| glove, with which he had elected to con
ceal his manned hand, and at the same mo-
| ment indicate festal occasion, 81 hev to
| thank We for the way ye took out tina I
child of mine, like ez she WOE an ontrie
| 1lly, and put her through her PAGES.
| don't dance myself, partikly in that gait
| which take to be suthin' betwixt a lope
| and canter-and | don't get to see much
| dancin' nowadays on account o. bein' wor-
rited Ivy stock, but seein' you two together
Just now, suthin' came over me, and don't
think | ever felt so kan in my life"
The blood rushed to the masters cheek
with an unexpected consciousness of guilt
and shame.
But" he stammered, awkwardly, "your
daughter dances beautifully herself she has
certainly had practice"
That said McKinstry, LAYING his gloved
hand impressvely on the masters shoulder,
with the empty little finger still more en-
phasized by being turned backward in the
act; that may be ez it ez, but wanted to
say that it was the simple, easy, family
touch that you gev it, that took me. To-
ward the end, when you kinder gathered her
up and she sorter dropped her head into your
breast-pocket, and seemed to go to sleep,
like ez Of she was still a little girl, it so re-
minded me of the times when I used to tote
her myself walkin' by the Vaughn at Platt
river, that it made me wish the old woman
was here TO see it,"
Still coloring, the master cast a rapid,
sidelong glance at McKinstry's dark red
face and beard, but in the slow satisfaction
of his features there was no trace of that
irony which the masters self-consciousness
knew.
"Then your wife is not heren said Mr.
Ford abstractedly.
"She war at church. She reckoned that
I'd do to look after Cressy-she bein', so TO
speak, under conviction. Dye mind walkin'
this way bit; l want to speak word with
YEP
He put his manned hand through the mas
ter's arm. after his former fashion, and led
him to corner.
"Did ye happen to see Seth Davis about
yern'
II believe saw him moment ago." re-
turned Mr.. Ford, half-contemptuously.
"Did he get off anythiu' rough on yer'
Certainly not, said the master, haugh-
| tily ''Wby should he daref"
THAT'S so, said McKinstry meditatively.
you had better keep right on in that line.
| That's your gait, remember. Leave him
| or his father--its the same thing-to me.
| Don't you let yourself be roped in to this
yer row betwixt me and the Davises. You
amt got no call to do it. It's already been
on my mind your bringin' that gun to me
| in the Harrison row. The old woman
hadn't oughter let you-nor Cress either
Hank to me, Mr.. Ford l reckon to stand
| between you aud both the Davises till the
cows come home-only -mind you give him
the go by when he happens to mean5er along
| toward you"
I'm very much obliged to you," said
| Ford, with disproportionately sudden cohler
| "but don't propose to alter 'my habits for O
| ixfir nh N1h hau a
missed"
The unjust and boyish petulance of hi.
speech instantly flashed upon him, and he
felt his cheek burn again.
| McKinstry regarded him with dull, red,
slumbrous eyes.
Don't you go to lose your best holt, Mr..
| Ford-and that's kan. Keep your kan
and you've allus got the dead wood on Injin
| Springs. l hain't got it," he continued, in
| his slowest most passloDless manner, land
| a row more or less amt much account &c
me-but you, you keep your KAN"
| He paused, stepped back, and regarding
| the master, with a slight wave of his Grip
pied hand over his whole person, as il indi-
eating some personal adornment, said:
| ut sets you offp
He nodded, turned aud re-entered the
ball room. Mr. Ford, without trusting
| himself to further speech, elbowed his way
But even there his strange anger, as well as
the equally strange remorse which bad seized
| him in McKinstry's presence, seemed TO
evaporate in the clear moonlight and soft
| summer air. There was the river bank, with
the tremulous river glancing through the
| dreamy mist, as they had seen it from the
window together. He even turned to look
back on the lighted ball room, as if she
might have been looking out too. But he
| knew he should see her again tomorrow
and he hurriedly put aside all reserve, all
thought of the future, all examination Of
| his conduct, to walk home enwrapped in the
wagner pleasure of the past. Rupert Fill
| gee, to whom he had never given a second
Thought, now peacefully slumberiDg beside
| his baby brother. had not gone home in
more foolish or more dangerous company.
When he reached the hotel, he was sur
prised to find it only IL o'clock. No one had
returned, the building was deserted by all
but the barkeeper and flirting chamber
maid, who regarded him with aggrieved
astonishment. He began to feel very fool
ish. and half regretted that he had not
stayed to dance with Mrs. Trip; or, at
least, remained as a quiet onlooker apart
from the others. With hasty excuse
about returning TO write letters for the
mornings post, he took a candle and slowly
renowned the stairs TO his room. But on
entering he found himself unprepared for
that singular lack Of sympathy which IA
miliar haunts always greet our new export
ences; he could hardly believe that no had
left that room only two hours before; 1t
seemed 80 uncongenial and strange to the
l..