The progressive farmer. [volume] (Winston, N.C.) 1886-1904, 1892-04-12

JOO uO ACI "CEFuy F0GOrG0Q MTS.
Dixon. "You have the same chance
that I did. It's the duties on these
lu8dries that makes the cost. Captain
Sazeda is in a hurry to get back to Rio
Janerio. If we go at all we'll have to
go to night"
But it's Ralph's late night at the
bank" hesitated Dorothy.
"Au the better. He mustn't know a
word of it. Menareso ridiculous about
such things. 1 never would have
breathed a word to you if 1 had sup
posed you would betray-me"
81 WON'T won't" cried Dorothy,
her cheeks flushed, her dark eyes
sparkling. "Oh, Luella, do you think
my poor little seventy five dollars will
buy anything fit to look at47
"Great bargains are sometimes OBJ
tanned in that way" nodded Mrs.
Dixon. but good gracious, is that
eleven strikingG And me due at my
dressmaker's at half-past ten. must
go, Dorothy. Remember I'll call for
you at seven. Not a minute before
dark, you know. Sazeda will send up
the cabin boy to show you the way.
Put on your waterproof, and wear
your Oldest hat and veil, and make
some excuse to Bridget. Mind, sharp
seven!"
All day Dorothy Imray went about
her occupations like one in a dream.
The strange fantastic nature of the adj
venture appealed to the romantic side
of her being.
She longed for diamonds as a desert
wonderer longs for cooling fountains.
She could tell Ralph that she had hired
them, that some of their relations up
in Canada had ~bequeathed them-she
could make up any sort of a story to
pacify him. The rent must wait. Aunt
Rhoda would surely be in no haste
about her black brocaded gownl
And Dorothy fell to thinking in what
shape the stones-precious sparklers
from far Southern mines-should
be set.
Seven o'clock came-a raw, smoky
twilight. filled with fine, drizzling rain
and Dorothy and Mrs. Dixon were
picking their way along the narrow,
half-lighted streets on the edge Of the
wharves, where the wind was full of
saline odors, and the Gro wded masts
and smoke stacks seemed to overshadow
them like some outlandish sort of
forest.
A stunted lad in tattered garments
trotted along in front of them, whist
ling as he went, and now and then
casting a backwack glance to make
sure that they had not lost their
way.
Pre- sently he plunged into a crazy
old house which seemed to balance
itself on the black tides below.
Mrs. Dixon ollowed-so did Dorothy
Imray, after one star tied glance around,
They descended a flight Of ruinous
stairs, crossed a rude gangplank, and
found themselves on a stupenduously
dirty vessel, smellingo of tar and onions,
and rocking back and forth with the
swell produced by the ferry-boats that
came and went at intervals.
Ahumpbacked little man in furnished
velveteen sat on a bucket turned up
side down, holding a lantern which he
swung toward a cabin door beyond.
"Ha, GiacomeW he uttered, "Ze
signora she come to see re parrot an
re cockatoo! She is welcome. Walk
Eat way, please"
And Dorothy and her friend de-
scended into a ~low-ceiled, dirty place
lined with cages of n~umberless shrek
ing foreign birds, and a jocund-looking
young man with a mandolin slung
around his neck was leisurely picking
out a tune by the light, a smoked black
ened lamp.
He looked at Mrs. Dixon, who nodded
her head, while Dorothy stood tremb-
ling and a little sea-sick at her side.
He laid down the mandolin, be-
not un~gracefully TO- rpthy,
ing the doors with
a shallow cigar
table.
All at once
into sciS
startM