Idaho news. (Blackfoot, Idaho) 1887-1891, 1890-02-01

III Hhl ''Well, read the
politics"
Barton answered by an expressive
yawn, for even the delights of mans
earthly refuge, the club, viii pail at
times on the masculine mind. And
when the dailies deal only in politics
and death notices, what can thepoor
sellows do but yawn at the dreary
prospect
The Phoenix is an exceptional club.
Within its privileged walls the gilded
youth and rich merchants of a great
city dined and gossiped. On this
particular morning, it was a small
and early affair that united the host
andhis two guests in acongenial meal.
Frederick Barton was giving one of
his justly celebrated little breakfasts
to a friend, en- route for New York.
But even breakfast was a thing of
the past, and with chairs pushed from
the table, the men were eonsoling
the regret ofsated appetite with the
comforting cigar.
Conversation had flowed toitslo
est ebb, when George Huntington
made his brilliant suggestion of read
ing the paper. With the persistency
of a man who feels himself within the
clutch of a boredom, he reiterated
his novel idea
<Well, read us the death notices, if
you won't read politics. Let US see
who has been put under the sod
Maybe a creditor" he said with an
air of hope.
Barton shook his head, but never
fheless he took up the paper and
glanced idly at the sheets before him.
As his eye fell on the column where
are recorded the names of those who
have recently died, he changed color
violently, and looked uneasily at his
friend, John Torrance, who had just
isen from his chair.
@tAtIeast, "a creditor, said Torrance,
stretching himself with a sleepy sigh,
@and while you rejoice at this IN
timely end / will leave you for half
an hour or SO, and on my return |
shall doubtless find you, Huntington,
stiIl g1oating." He waved bis hand
to his friends and went in quest of a
nap.
Fred Barton's gaze followed him
across the room with painful inter
est. The paper fell on the table, but
his Land still held it with apparent
caxeIessness. As the door closed he
turned with an expression of relief
toward his remaining guest. The
hand that grasped the paper relaxed
its hold and flung that respectable
journal at Huntington, while Barton
almost gasped:
%Bead that"
tfRead what?" said the other, sit
ting upright in his chair, at this
unIooked-for-o burst. "W hic h.,
when, where, how, what am Itoread?"
1.-THE third death notice." replied
Barton, gravely, "and when you
have read it you will know that
nothing but Torrance's timely de-
paFture saved me. but especially him
from about as unpleasanta situation
as can be conceived"
Huntington smoothed the crump-
led folds and read aloud:
AT Washington, D. c., March 25,
Mary Hastings. beloved wife of R.,
II Kenyon, in the twenty eighth
year of her life. Burial at Mt. Hope,
March 81" "Twenty-eight years, :"
he said, rehectively; very young and
very sad. OF course, but why does it
affect you and Torrance. Now, my
sympathies are with the bereaved
r. IT,"
III had forgotten. you were in
Europe that year, just after you left
college; Mary Hastings had been out
several seasons then, and was
married not long afterwards. She
vas great belle, and all the men
xayed over her"
81 suppose that means you and
Torrance were both in love with her
and raved with the chorus. Whit
was it, duel or a graceful backing
down before r. To"
cit was neither" answered Barton
sharply. "I-I was not in love with
her, but Torrance was. don't