The McCook tribune. (McCook, Neb.) 1886-1936, 1894-03-30
D promise to help mer she adds gush-

o.
Ido my best to repress a smile, and SO
taking the book from her hand l retire
to the privacy Of my sanctum, where I
proceed to inscribe my name in my lar
gest, manifest c~hirography. Idry it care
fully and return to the reception room.
"Oh, how very kind in your my Wis
itor gushes again. II shall prize it as
long as l live! Are You his sister,
1 shake my head.
''Oh, not his-wife?"
/ fancy CONSERVATION in the sweet.
shrill, girlish voice. Evidently the fact
of a better half" would forever obscure
the fame of the popular writer.
Again l shake my head.
We're St. Adams is not married." !
return, and the violet eyes dance with
delight. She is pleased and does not at
tempt to conceal it.
II am his nearest FRIEND" l added ex-
planatorily. nearer to him than any one
else"
And then | bow her out and go back
to my work. But all day long 1 am Wis
tied by thoughts of the pretty college
girl, and l fall to wondering if Brother
Tom paid his wager like a man of honor.
The next day We're ST. Adams" re-
ceives cards of invitation to several af-
fairs. The envelopes are all addressed
to MI. We're st. Adams, and gradually it
dawns upon me that I am universally
believed to be of the masculine gender.
1t is amusing and provoking, but the
situation has its compensations. de-
cline every invitation in We're st. Adams
name and feel almost like an impostor
as l do so.
Day after day l am besieged by callers
who demand to look upon the face of the
mysterious st. Adams. Of course I re-
fuse everybody. l double Abby's wages
and station her in the small entrance
hall, with orders to admit no INT re-
ceive letters from my publishers re-
preaching me with my seclusion.
"Don't be a hermit. my dear fellow"
says one of the letters from the august
head of the house; ga little society will
freshen you up, and besides you have
really made a hit in that last article, and
people are DESTROYS of meeting you. My
son, whom we have just admitted to the
firm, is very anxious to meet you"
And so on until I feel the blood grow
cold within my veins at thought of pos
sible complications.
Can l always preserve my incognita?
Will they not besiege my den and ferret
the truth and me-out of it together? 1t
comes at last. One bright winter morn
ing Abby ushers into my presence a port
ly looking old gentleman, and with him
a man of some 80 years, tall, dark, hand
some-just such a face as I love to por-
tray az the faces of my heroes.
II beg your pardon"
with surprise.
1.-THE servant showed us in here. We
are DESTROYS of meeting Mr.. We're St.
Adams. We are of the publishing firm
of Atherton & Sons. wish to see Mr..
st. Adams in regard to some especial
work. Will you kindly request him to
give us audience?
I feel my face growing red-redder-
reddest. I rise from my chair and mo
ton them to be seated near. Iopen my
mouth to blurt forth the whole truth,
but some perverse imp seizes my tongue,
and instead I falter:
"You cannot see We're st. Adams to-
day, gentlemen. HE'S indisposed."
So he is, indeed, indisposed to receive
visitors.
"You are Mrs. We're St. Adams, / pre-
sumo" he observes. And lob, depths
of infamy! 1 am so embarrassed, SO
overwhelmed with embarrassment un-
der the cool, steady gaze of the younger
man that I bow and mutter something
which sounds strangely like eyes"
At that moment there is a curious bus
tie within the fat where my little home
is situated. An uproar all at once, and
in rushes Abby, wild and ~disheveled,
ture.
ooh, Miss We're! Miss Vere?'' she
shrieks, 'the house is on fire! Come, let
us get away, or we shall be burned
alive!"
It is all true. The fire has been burn
ing SO long unsupported that now it
breaks out with irresistible force, and
o the whole building is in flames,
But long before then we are quite safe.
My two visitors bear my desk down
stairs between them, and while the elder
man keeps watch and ward over it out.
side upon the street the younger returns
to me.
1--WE must get your husband out" he
says eagerly. "Show me his room, and
I will do my best to save HIM"
my husbandr I falter feebly. why
I have no husbandl"
"Then who is We're St. Albans?'
II ann
So the truth is told, and somehow ]
feel better.
When we are all safe on terra frma,
my new friend turns to me and says il
low tone:
my name is Tom Atherton. Ny
young sister called to obtain We're St.
Adams autograph. She is more thar
half in love with the unknown and mys.
terious We're. I shall take pleasure in
~undeceiving her."
Then after a long pause, during which
he studies my shamed face attentively,