Evening capital journal. (Salem, Or.) 1888-1893, 1891-10-03

world. Oh. I wish that ! were deadI"
Cheer up. Belief" soothed I. Polly
viii know Whist. 10 do. Wen take
oounsel With Polly
Polly sdrooafed no half measure.
She had a genuine New England horror
Of gambling IN all It's forms
4 never would have come 20 Mona
co. said she If I'd known what sor1
Of place IL was Wm yOu so away,
Belle. All of usl Wen take a look at
the south Of France and then 20 home "
There are gaming houses every
where. said Belle. de5eetedly. And
you'll find that be win not leave Mona
60.
He shall leave II. said Polly. com
I pressing ber lips
Polly wa a Maine maiden who feared
nothing in the heavens above or the
I earth beneath or the waters under the
earth. She PeDetrated valiaDtly into
F the ElftterinE ring Of destruction and
marched up to St Cyr that very night
Charley. come out. she whispered
Come with mei~
He looked at her with cleaning eyes
and cheeks dyed deep red
Don't speak 10 me nOw." be said
Cant you see that the luck is chang
mgr She drew resolutely away.
Gone. say she cried, stamping
her foot
Just then some one back Of him
reached frantically over bis head. beck
oning TO Monsieur le Croupier, and
in his Eesfieulations knocked of St
Cyr's beautiful wavy fresssd toupee. Ii
fell among the croWding feet under the
table There was nomentary silence.
then a general peal Of cnly half sup
pressed merriment St Cyr looked
vaguely around Then he Bit bis lip
and reeeded from the crowd
You are right. Polly. said he. Il
have 10 business here. Oh. eonfound
the wig as fantas1ically dressed page
would have restored il 10 him 1T
makes my head ache and keeps me in
a fever DO ] LOOK very bad. Cousin
Polly, with Iuy Own hair just beginning
TO grow outF'
mo" said Polly, you look like
yourself You never seemed like our
Charley IN that curly mass of locks.
Let me have IT, III take il home and
give il to old Antonio at the hotel"
And Belle eonid scarcely credit her
eyes when she saw Polly come in,
leaning triumphautly on St. Cyrs arm.
you are my guardian angel. Pollyi"
she cried
St Cyr passed his hand slowly over
his forehead.
That toupee always made my head
seems to me as if | had been in dream
and was only just awakened. Yes,
ding il away. Polly. I'll never wear it
again."
Polly carried the wig home 10 the lit
tie hotel where we occupied inexpen-
sive rooms Old Antonio, the porter,
was very bald and fiies tormented him
See. Rosa. said my sister TO his
blooming granddaughter, here is some
thing to keep the grandpapa's head dry
and warm Ny cousin does not need it
any longer and
Rosa, trim, tall maiden, with eyes
like pools Of wine and rich olive skin,
took the wig and looked at it a second.
"Madre di Dial" cried she, shudder
convulsing her frame. The saints
forbidl" And, turning around, she
flung il on the dim fire that burned in
cracked stove close by There was a
smell Of burning hair, an upward glow
Of purplisb fiame-then few writhing
ashes.
"Do you know whose hair it isT' she
said mo, but do was in Matteo
Gigllo's shop on the Via Madre when
/ the American signor bought it. No
one in Naples would wear that hair.
I Hist 1t is the hair OF the Contessa
/ yareda-the maddest gambler in all
I italy who cut her throat the night
she lost the Vareda family jewels at
the faro table. | know it because ]
was her maid, and cut the hair away
myself, for | knew it was all the wage
should ever get. Oh, sweet st. Rose
and II the grandpapa should wear la
CoptesSsa's hair, he, too, would be wild
/ for play. Not for worlds would have
/ i'll Is there not a curse that goes with
the ContesSa's hair"
Polly and looked at each other
with startled eyes. We were New Eng
land girls who believed in no fantastic
tales Of psychology or magnetism. Yet
what could we think Of this storyi
II do believe, murmured Polly,
that the spell is broken.
IL was when Charles ST. Cyr returned
20 America entirely cured Of his tempo
rsry mania for the gaming table. and
We never told him or Belle Of Rosas
legend
1T seemed such nonsense" said
Polly, and yet"-
There Is no such thing as nonsense,"
said I eurtly. TOro1io Nail