The National tribune. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1877-1917, 1891-06-11
THE NATIONAL TRIBUNE WASHINGTON o. THURSDAY JUNE H. 1891

praiTies westward. "Search seems useless" ho
murmured. "The earth seems 70 have swal-
lowed up my nymph. How can so perfect q
face be lost in the crOwd2" But the mOnotOny
Of Mr.. Skidmores silent yearniHgs was des-
tined to a sudden termination.
Milwaukee. Twenty minutes for suppah %
bawled the porter. and Mr. SkidmOre, with
other of his travelling companions, precipitated
himself into the frosty night air and went
scurryiBg along toward the railway dining
room.
Fastidious as usual, and prone to separate
himself from the common herd. the young
New Yorker, needless Of the head waiter and
the landlords arrangements seated himself on
the opposite side at an empty table.
Like most epecurian and selfabsOFbed per-
sons. Mr. SkidmOTe ughtOniy OF his dinner.
and not the incidental environment Of a rail-
way eating house.
Beef N oysters n mock-turtle sOup!"
Without gIaneing up Mr.. SkidmOre ordered,
received, and ate bis soup.
R0s beef, rOs lamb, saddle mutt'n, ehiek'u
fFicI;sy, n"
Bring it along" interrupted the traveller,
sharply. The rasping voice OF the waitress
tortured his sensitive ears.
IL was not until Mr.. SkidmOre had pretty
nearly finished his dinner that, desiring his
glass reflled, he raised his eyes aud nodded to
tine girl.
There was one quick, sharp exclamation Of
surprise, swift look Of increduity, and per-
feet spasm Of horror passed over tho face Of the
handsome young man. He half rose from his
chair, then, as if seized by the iron hand Of
conventi0naIity, he sank meekly back into his
chair. Yet lie continued to stare at the wasp
WASTED maid in stiff pink skirts and really
white apron.
Daphnel"
That one word seemed 10 have forced its way
between Mr.. Skidmore's cleHched teeth. 10
was little moro than a shrill whisper, but il
reached the girls ears, and she stared in as
tonishment.
"WelI. now, who in the name Of sense give
that away?"
Heavens; it was, indeed, shel This was
Daphne, the woman of his dream; this red
haired, freekled caricature OF the photOg-
rapher's art. The name! TWAS hers; it was
she; there could be no mistake. Good Lord,
what a discovery"
Come here" The man controlled his voice
with difficulty, but he mHst speak with her.
The girl moved forward mincingly and
awkwardly. She did not remove her hand
from her hip.
Is your name Daphne2"
No." laughed the girl, "my names Delilay,
but pa called me Dilly at home. Then the
girls here got to calling me DaRydowndilly,
then DaHy."
Then your name is not Daphne?" with a
look of disgust.
No; il was only him that said Daphne.
He said it was better for the aIrand he had set
out TO do"
He. WhoPD
"Why, Tibbey, as we girls call him here.
Hes a dry-goods runner from New York a
regular swell, too, like you" with an awful at
tempt at coquetry.
Is Tibbey your lover2" scOrnfuIly.
What, him! Well. / should remark not, !"
giggled the woman Of Dir. SkidmoEe's dream
as she tipped napkin in her hand. Hes
married, / suppose, like all the other nice fell
lows on the road, but he used 10 come this way
so frequent we all felt wo knOWed him, and ha
spent his money royal, too, and the Greek
goadess tossed her classic head and flirted her
starched skirts with all the pretty insOlence of
a dining belle. "But," she added saucily,
" How did you catch on?"
He lost tho picture you gave him and I
found it," replied the awakened dreamer in a
duu, heavy voice, gazing vaeantly upon the
low white brow, the violet eyes, and sweeping
brOws
Great scotti" Indignantly, as only pretty
waitress can, "to think he should Of went and
lost that photo"
SHOULD Of wentl" Mr SkidmOre shuddered.
Then hs said severely, "Why did you give
your picture to a married man."
Daphne giggled again. Then she went on,
the words TipPling gaily from between those
perfect lips: well, il wasn't much Of picture.
IL was just prufs, and he eoaxed me to have