The Princeton union. [volume] (Princeton, Minn.) 1876-1976, 1892-12-08

q man as ever lived. i kn6W he
wouldn't charge me for an opinion.
/ told my story.
"Now, DOCTOR" / said, 4'if am
looney, out with itl'
mo, no, Jimn said he; every sane
men have optical illusions now and
then" 5
II don't want any more Of EN-, !"
said ], Collecting fares OF optical
illusions don't pay"
II should say not, said the doctoR.
"But my opinion is that you turned
your back a minute and the womsln
got off without paying her fare:
Probably she was not q real SISTER OF
Charity. The city is full OF fratIds.
She made you take the paper to tho
man to give. herself q chance. Sec,
now"
Ididn't see; but what can you do
when folks are SO sensible they can't
believe anything?
"Twasn't like that-there she was
and there she wasn't" said /.
"That's how it was. :"
"If it Happens again, come to me
| and I'll write you a prescription and
make you present OF it, /" said the
doctor.
So I thanked him kindly and went
away, and it didn't happen again.
Weeks went along, and it was winter
and as cold as Greenland, and passen-
gers more bothersome that I ever
knew 'em, when one day, standing in
the stables, talking to Mike Gallagher,
the old fellow that waterel the horses
and always had q joke for everybody,
heard my name called.
"You're wanted, Jinl,'' said some
one, and I went ..out INTO the street,
and the man that had called me
pointed to gentle1nan-about as
fine q looking one as ever knew
and he, the gentleman, walked up to
me.
"It's your dinner time, isn't it?"
said he. lin
minutes Left -.
"Come along, them" said he. He
walked me into restaurant close by
the stables, and said, "Call for what
you want" and l named it. Then
said he. "You don't remember me,
Jim Brown" ~
mo, SIR" said I.
"You gave me a paper about six
months ago. said he. "AneWspaper,
asked your NAME" y,
"Oh, obi" said /. "No, sir, didn't
know you. begin to see theikeness,
but you-you-"
II know" said he. II was pretty
we'll down Oh my luck then. See here"
he unbuttDned his coat, a sealskin,
bless you, end took out of the breast
pocket a nowspaper-"read that" he
said, pointing to where it was folded.
Tread it. This is what it said:
"f Ferdinand Melrose will return
home all will be forgiven by his dying
father" and after that where he was
to inquire for ''further particulars"
''Well, I am Ferdinand Melrose,"
says the gentleman. "The black sheep
OF my family. Long ago my STEP
mother made mischief between my
father and myself. He forbade me
his house, and l rather went to the
bad. No matter for my story:
Besides the fare you inquired about
l had only a bottle of]audanum in my
pocket. l was going to the Cen
tral Park to take it. / should have
slept myself out of life into eternity
and the city would have seen to my
funeral If you had not given me that
paper. I went to the place mention.
ed and found, as expected, that money
had been left in the lawyers hands
to take me home. When I got there
found that my stepmother had been
dead three years and my father had
been attacked by disease that must
be fatal. We were reconciled and
when he died l found myself a rich
man. had kept Jim Brown s address,
and I feel that I owe him something
"Nothing at all, says I. ''The
lady--the sister-told me to give it to
you"
"What LADY," said he. ~. +. Il.
cid like to know myself" said I,
and then told him my story.
'It is STRANGE" says he. II could
swear that I was the only passenger
at the time. I felt so miserable and
so shabby that purposely waited
for an empty car. And another thing
is strange, Jim Brown said he. eve
have a ghost in our family. A nun is
said to appear now and then, always
to do good. And my father declared
that while he was i'll she appeared to
him three times, always pointing to
my portrait, which hung in his bed.
room, and always conveying to him
in some way that it was his duty to
search for me. In fact she was the
cause OF our reconciliation.
| Icouldn't say anything. Neither OF
us spoke about the thing again; but
when he insisted on starting me in the
clearinghouse line wasn't fool enough
to refuse, and as you see, I'm not a
bobtail-car driver any longer.
No. I haven't seen anything queer
since that time, and l can't say Tn
anxious; but whether the lady was
what the doctor called an optica
delusion, it's certain that she only die
good to all concerned. Bless her fol
comingl
Lamp Lights Becoming Fashions
! r. BILE.
! Among other notable change.
wrought by the use of petroleum i!