The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1891-11-18
her, which 1 did, although I could tell

/ went on again, though she proceeded
quite slowly, and 1 judged that she was
very tired. She was still nearly half a
| mile from land when she stopped again,
and raising her head slightly above the
water, called out, in what was intended
for a shout, but which was in reality q
| very feeble vocal efort-''Mr. Dilwyn"
It was evident that the girl was COM
pletely exhausted, so I made a squirt,
and a few rapid strokes placed me at her
| side.
"Did you really hear me ?" she almost
/ whispered. 81 fear I cannot make it
| alone"
Scan you keep aaoat if you throw
your arms over my back2 can carry
you easily enough that way"
II think I cam" she replied.
"Then do so," I said.
It cost me very little extra effort to
swim with the girl resting only a part of
her weight upon me. The arrangement
| evidently relieved her, for, when we had
gone about half the distance, she said.
SIT is very good of you, Mr.. Dilwyn.
I think I can swim now"
''Better not try,"I answered CURLY.
"Tell me, then, when we reach shall
low water"
When we were within fifty yards of
the shore and in not more than four
feet of water, I said: "You are not like
~ to drown now, even if you should
have to walk"
She loosened her hold of me, and,
floating on her side, proceeded to thank
me profusely. But I was in a contrary
humor and borrowing the words which
she herself had used at the crib, I said:
"Pray do not burden me with thanks"
and added, ''you know I would have
done as much for one of the small boys
from the city-it is no particular credit
to be commonly humane"
"Well,' she said, in a disappointed
tone, ''let me at least tell you my name.
It is Lucille"
But I gave her no chance to finish. I
considered it a good opportunity to "get
~even," so exclaimed loudly, "No, do not
tell me-. I object to such informal in
Productions"
And, with that, I swan away toward
my home.
More than two years passed away, dur
ing which period I did not again meet
Miss Lucille, although I speedily discov-
cred her %patronymic. At the end Of that
time I saw the young lady at a .neigbor-
hood musicale and was formally intro
duced.
Alas! within half an hour I put my
awkward foot in it, by referring Gnno-
Gently enough) to the more than informal
reception which she had accorded me at
the crib. She was especially angry in
that a local wag stood sufficiently near
to overhear and drink in every word
which I uttered, so that much to the dis
gust of both of US, we were, thanks to
him, ever afterwards known along a few
miles of the Lake Front as the ''pair Of
ducks"
1t took my fair would-be despot a
month to recover from her huff, by which
time 1 was "hufy" myself.
So it has been-the same old story ever
since. Whenever I have felt good and
gracious, Lucille has invariably been angry
or sulky; while, whenever the. young
woman has been disposed to smile, I have
persistently refused to bask in the sun.
shine of her kindly glances. For two
steady years we have played at cross pur-
poses-a big but rather tiresome game of
bluff and huff, and yet (strange paradoxD
I have loved Lucille, I have ever been
the girls ardent admirer and willing
slave. That is to say, I would have been
her willing slave had she permitted such
a state of affairs when I happened to be
in the humor.
A few weeks ago I seriously offended
ssthe other duck" I was certainly in
the wrong and behaved like a perfect
brute. 1t took about nine days for me
to discover this fact, and I then wrote a
note full of profuse apologies, tender re-
grets, etc.
The note was returned to me unopened,
as I half expected it would be. But,
three or four days afterward, I received
a p~enitential letter from Lucille, which
my state of mind just then would per-
init me to look upon as nothing less than
feminine hypocrisy OF the basest sort.
took my heavy stub pen and dipped
it deep down into my red ink. Across
the first page of Lucile's letter I scrawled
.sToo late."-Upon the second page I
wrote "Rats lover the third l scrib-
bled "Chestnuts'-And upon the fourth
and last page I printed in heavy Old
English text farewell"
Then I returned her letter to Lucille.
It was the last straw. I was morally
certain that I was an "A-number-one"
fool; and I felt tolerably sure that Lucille
was not far behind me in the same
category.
Between Lucille and the temperature
Git was July and the thermometer stood
at eighty-three degrees, about two A. N.Y.
I passed o wretched, sleepless night.
When I walked down to the lake at six
o'clock I had arrived at a very logical
conclusion, namely: l could not live
with Lucille; I could not live without
Lucille; ergo-I mad better die right off.
Down in u little bathing house we
kept, for prudential reasons only, a
large bottle of brandy. took this bottle
and deliberately emptied its contents ea
the pebbly beach. Then l tore from my
note book a fly leaf, and with my pencil
urota &C follows.