Passaic City record., 1891-09-26

| A year later, John Allen was again of
| for his vacation, but he carefully avoided
Nantucket. He went to the mountains,
there to rest and try to .sforgst." He
was graver and sterner than he had been
year before; apparently he needed rest
more badly. He was determined to put
his 'Sconset romance forever out OF
mind. Men lived without lung, and
did much good work, too; why
shouldn't he try the experiment of living
minus a heart, yet accomplishing
fine things2 Of course there was no
why.
On the evening when he arrived at the
hotel where he intended to recreate, he
noticed the servants. "Ahl this Is one
of those houses where college students
are mattresses and walters. I'll look
into 1t and see if it won't make col
umn for the Sunday edition. That is, if
l can manage to put the thing in new
light"
A guest sitting near him called:
.sMaggie?"
Allen started. 1t was foolish habit
he had acquired during the past year;
when any change rung upon the name of
Margaret reused his interest. But he
did not look round. He mentally slapped
the vacuum which his lost heart had left
and went on eating flap jacks; for which
he should not be blamed. White Mount
ain flap jacks are famous.
s'Maggie, another plate of them,
please. About twenty-four. Inever ate
such pan-cakes" said the other diner.
Neither had John Allen. But twenty
fourl That order would give realistic
flavor to the prospective column-and
the journalist looked up. Though he
didn't see the hungry guest. He saw.
instead, little figure in print gown
and white apron, moving away down the
dining room with an alert briskness na-
tive to only two people on this planet
"mother" and :smother's" daughter. He
rushed after the figure, and caught it be-
fore it vanished kitchenwards. The
mattresses stared, comprehended,
and looked away.
Aliens hand fell on Margaret's shoul-
der, with such an eager clutch that she
screamed and dropped the plate she was
carrying. Then she turned pale, but
her assistant did not allow her to faint.
He tucked her arm into his and marched
her out of the house and down into the
"Glen." She was forced to 60 or ''make
a scene"
In the "Glen" he released her, or
placed her on rock and stood guard
over her.
"Now, little girl, I've cal Ptured you'll
There'll be no more time lost. Meg
Margaret-Maggie, will you marry mea"
''No, sir.'
"Why nota"
Ell don't-once I was 'literary
woman You told me that you didn't
like that kind"
81 don't. But you were never liter
ary."
81 was. / wrote book"
"Yes. The ''Sconset Romance Well,
punished you for that. I-no matter.
You'll never write another"
81 will if I like"
"You won't like"
"Pooh! Humph!"
"How did you happen to start OF such
distressing career2"
"Oh, I could always write. wanted
money"
81 thought so. You had no special
hankering for fame2"
'sBosh! for fame. I never thought of
fame, even in my 'authoress' days. I
had to do something to help, and that
came easiest"
"Maggie-Margaret-Meg, will you
marry me2"
"Whys"
81 love you. For your retaliation.
For my expiatlon. It was who killed
your book-when I reviewed it in the
Clarion"
"You-you mean thingl It nearly
killed me, too"
''Criticism doesn't kill-people. If it
did shouldn't be here to ask you the
third time to marry me. I know. I'm
in literature myself"
"You2 Oh, John!"
After a while, between kisses, he
paused to say: ''But am-literary;
and-realistic. The genuine 'Sconset
romance beats the sham one by a long
shot. l believe I'll write it up."
But he didn't.
I did.-Frank Leslie's.