The herald., 1893-10-08
WHO'S THE WOMANg
CHAPTER /.

bCCo-1c q WEALTHY 4Adu. 4uc SUI VI {
poor artist who had left nothing but bad
pictures and bad debts behind him, what
could he expect but life of penury
theered by the enlivening prospect oi
ending it in the Thames or the work
house? With such gloomy anticipations
rs these. tutorship at $50 year ap-
peared perfect mine of wealth to John
Brown, and to prove his gratitude for it
he devoted himself heart and soul to the
sowing of classic and mathematical seed
in his pupils brain. Young Harry did
not take kindly to anything his mentor
taught him. His brain was like that
wonderful hat of the conjurer's, which,
though you may fill it to the brim with
rings and watches, refuses to produce
anything but rabbits The fine classical
and mathematical crop that Brown had
so carefully sown-the good, solid wheat
and barley, as you may say-could never
be induced to grow, while tares and
thistles, as Brown considered all tastes
for such things as betting, racing and
acting, hourished and grew apace in
spite of careful and persistent wedding.
And yet there was nothing particular
ly bad about the boy. He was q nice
young fellow enough, and constant in
tercourse with an absolutely high mind
ed, truthful, honorable man Though a
trifie dull withaD, such as his tutor, in
sensibly strengthened all the latent good
in him. Harry's parents had systematic
ally neglected their son for the sake of
society. He had always been snubbed
by his father and kept out of sight by
his mother, who did not care to own to
the possession Of great hulking boy of
II. Consequently all the love and hero
worship that his nature was capable of
feeling was bestowed upon kind, honest
John Brown.
If John succeeded in nothing else, he
succeeded in implanting q wonderful
amount of love and admiration for him
self in his pupils wayward heart.
Browns tutorship extended over two
years. Then Hastings flung off hismental
leading strings, went off to Africa to
shoot big game and disappeared as
completely from the elder mans life as
though he had borrowed money of him.
And now d curious thing occurred
the one great stroke of John Browns
quiet, ploddi1sg life. An old maiden
aunt died. She had always been consid-
cred miserably poor, but on her death it
was found that she had managed to
scrape together no less than 60 900. This
money she left to her nephew John, and
it formed the foundation stone on which
he reared his large fortune. 1t floated
him into the Stock Exchange; it brought
him partnership; it gave him fair
start in life. After that his perfect in
tegrity and good business head did the
rest; his business fourished; his specu-
lations succeeded, and in the course of
10 years he found himself a wealthy
man. Brown took house in Mayfair.
It was described as "biiou,' and rates
were matters Of indifference to the sue
cessful stock broker. All he wanted
now was wife, and it did not take him
long to find one He fell deeply in love
with the daughter of a friend on the
Stock Exchange. She accepted him, and
they were married in a few months.
Alice Benton, now Alice Brown, was a
beautiful woman. She was tall and fair
and calmly classical-one of those happy
beings that have their features and emo
tions well under control and never look
either too hot or too cold.
Brown adored her, and she accepted
his alteration in the same calm matter of
course manner in which she had accepted
him. She was faultless in his eyes-a
being to look up to and reverence. They
were an extremely happy couple.
They had been married about two
years, and John Brown was as much in
love with his wife as ever: more than
ever perhaps on this particular day on
which our story opens. for she had been
away from him for some weeks, and her
absence was becoming intolerable. 1t
was June, and things were SO busy in
the city that Brown was unable to leave
London, but he had sent his wife down
to the north, as it was unbearably hot in
town. She was to return the next day,
but as Brown walked slowly down the
crowded street toward Pursells he Won
dered how he should get through all
those long intervening hours.
A vigorous clap on the back and a
hasty ''Hello, old fellow Who would
have thought to see you here?" effectu-
ally aroused him.
He started and looked up into hand
some and strangely familiar face. 1t
was Harry Hastings, though his fair skin
was burned almost black by tropical
suns, and heavy mustache shaded his
lips. Though there were lines on his face
and all the change there that IL years of
living entail, Brown recognized his for
mer pupil.
"Harryl My dear boy! Where have
you dropped from?"
The two men exchanged hearty shake
of the hand. They were genuinely glad
to meet again.
"Where are You off tor" asked Harry,
linking his arm through Browns. "Pur-
sells, suppose. see it's grub time.
Come to my rooms and grub with me.
I've got diggins in Holborn. Come
along"
The young man hailed a hanson, and
Brown got meelzly in. He was busy, but
business must give way when old friends
turn up from the antipodes. Hastings
rooms were luxuriously furnished, his
cook a first class one, his wines extreme
ly select, his cheroots of the finest brand.
"Come, light up, old fellow" said
Harry, cigar in mouth. "You won't get
tobacco like that every day" He threw
himself back in his luxurious armchair,
his hands pll1npe1 in his nOclyefs his feet