The representative. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1893-1901, 1894-11-21
TOM BARTLE1TS LITTLE GIRL
A COMPLETE STORY.
by c. w. HASKINS.

j, Gilbert Fanshawe barrister-at-law
(perhaps l had better add, briefiess one)
am in no very pleasant frame of mind as
i reflect upon the open letter lying before
me ON the morning of the 18th of June
1&- The season is nearly over. Those
VINO are so fortunate as to possess coun-
try houses are transferring themselves to
them as speedily possible. Those who
DO not viii form themselves into select
coteries and depart to one or other of the
fashionablc, unpeasantly crowded water
ing-places.
Now. although / am still residing in my
not too commodous apartments, which are
handiiy situated within a short distance
of Lady Denvers' house in Mayfair (te tnis
lady, who is my godmother 1 am indebted
Tor what little standing l have in soci-
ety,, my heart is far away in a little
pevonshire village lying down by the sea-
with shady walks stretching inland. where
the banks of the Indigenous are fresh and
green with ferns and sweet wild flowers.
only a year ago." l muse, and almost
unconsciousy hum the somewhat senti-
mental song in which the words occur;
and again | see the old farmhouses half
hidden in the little valley; the gray,
Weather-beaten church tower peepng
Through the leafy trees, and, dearest and
beSt of all, a sweet little face with clear
gray eyes sometimes shining with laugh
t'i' anu sometimes gazing over the sea
with their far-away, earnest gaze.
nave made up my mind that / can
never quite enjoy another holiday as l
did that one Jack Dewsbury and 1 had
started ON Il walking tour through Devon
Shire, but finding the roads dreadfuly hot
and dusty had persuaded Farmer Smith
ana his worthy spouse-after we had con-
Vihced them of our respectability-to ac-
coinmodate us for few days. Jack. with
what he called his usual luck was sum-
~ ha Of
from whom he was supposed to have ex-
pectatlons 0he lady afterwards recovered,
ana gave herself in marriage to an elderly
curate); So | was left to finish my holiday
alone.
Now, had ii not been for that delightful
month in Il Devonshre village, perhaps |
should not 50 much resent my uncle's let
Ter which is now lying before me; as it
Jericho.
The letter which is thoroughly charac-
teristic of the writer, runs as follows:
My Dear Nephew: You will be at Euston
square station wherever that may be
thank goodness | don't know, and don't
want to-. tomorrow morning at 1870 to
meet old Tom Bartetts little girl, and
see her safely to Lady Denvers, who has
invited hA' up for her last ball. And now
want YOU. for once in your life, to be
sensible and practical. i have come to
The conclusion that you will never make
your future at the bar. In fact, I don't
pel'eNe you VIII ever earn your bread and
cheese, or keep your boot heels raised by
A. Now, Tom Bartlett has settled f2O 900
az per cents on his little girl, and if
1hlhsS can be arranged satisfactorily will
settle IKE sum upon yourself also in
Per cents. Tom Bartlett and I both con-
slder that to be the only safe investment
Your Affectionate Uncle
Now, what am | to do? I have a faint
notion of having heard Mr.. Thomas Bart
let's name in some of my uncle's after
He has civ
the impression of his being rather
VICIOUS, fire-eating old gentleman; but be-
yond this have not the faintest notion
who he is. or how am to know his daugh-
Ter.
Am to go up to the first vixenish look
ang damsel | see, and say: Are you old
Tom Rartietts little girI?" My worthy
uncle makes it his boast, at the age of u.s.
That he has never entered railway car
rage or been in London. | feel l should
like to set him to look for a strange girl
AT Eusto-square at half past IL in the
morning
And then this projected marriage Oh
horror. close my eyes and groan, as a
lace with haunting, pleading, gray eyes
rises before me, while the scent of the
dog 'oses comes waited from the Devon
shire lanes far away.
Ana L had been promising myself that
after next week was and Lady Den
vor's last lal' had taken place. 1 would in
dulSe in another visit to Saterleigh, where
ago TrIe | had but little hope of seeing
her there. Col. Winterson, her father had
been expected home from India early in
last winter. and goodness only knows
where they they now be-
/ have told myself fifty times that it is
most unlikely she has ever given a
thought 10 myself. as a stray &C
quaintance made in a summer holiday T
have never had the happy knack pos
sessed by 50 many fellows 1 know, of
making love to every girl whose path 7
happen TO cross; though if 1 had, 1 fancv
there was something about Mary Winter
son that would check me, even if I had
been the most hardened offender living I
fill my well coored meerschaum and sit
down to reflect upon my next weeks plan
OF action, which l feel will decide the
whole course of my life. 1 certainly am
not we'll endowed with worldly wealth; the
profits from my profession as yet are nil
The hundred Il year that came to me at
the death of my father has hitherto been
generously doubled by my uncle, but 1
know full we'll that If | disappointed him
after he has set his mind upon this mar
riaGe, | can reckon upon it no longer
One thing gives me great satisfaction
! am not in debt, and by the time I have
finished my pipe my mind is fully made
up Will work hard and live on next to
nothing. take police court cases. work at
law copying, do everything and anything;
but | will never. never marry old Tom
Bartiett's little girl.
The weather next morning harmonizes
We'll with my feelings, as l wend my way
to Euston-square station
L have been bordering half the night
whether I should refrain from going at
all, but there is something decidedly re-
pellant to me in the idea of leaving a
lady to reach her destination from a
crowded railway station alone no matter
how unpleasant the meeting may be.
1t has been raining heavily, and the
streets Of London have very gloomy and
sloppy appearance. while the atmosphere
as oppressively hot I reach the ton fully
g quarter of an hour before the train is
due and spend my time in looking discon-
sclat"ly at the advertisements with which
the walls are adorned
Al last the train steams in and taking
my stand by one of the pillars, l eagerly
sean the surging crowd that pours out upon
the platform. | afraid / peer into the
faces Of some highly respectable females
with what must seem unpardonable rude
mess; bat my scrutiny is vain-I cannot
summon courage to ask any one of them
if they rejoice in the patronymic of Bart
lett.
When the crowd has some what decreased
thread my way slowly along the plat
form. when voice close at my elbow
causes me to start in an extraordinary
manner, ana, turning hastily round 1 am
just in time TO see Mary Winterson hurried
out of the station by elderly person;
and before / can recover from my surprise