The Lambertville record. [volume] (Lambertville, N.J.) 1872-1968, 1894-02-28
WHOLE NO. Lib
Again 1 shake my head.

- W ere OU. AlDduS Is uOt AuhFTtcu,
return, and the violet eyes dance with
delight. She is pleased and does not at
tempt to conceal it.
II am his nearest friend" 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 am WIS.,
tied by thoughts of the pretty college
girl, and fall to wondering if Brother
Tom paid his wager like man Of honor.
The next day were st. Adams re-
ceives cards of invitation to several af-
fairs. The envelopes are all addressed
to Mr.. 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. Albans'
name and feel almost like an impostor
as do 80.
Day after day I am besieged by callers
who demand to look upon the face of the
mysterious st. Adams. Of course re-
fuse everybody. I double Abby's wages
and station her in the small entrance
hall, with orders to admit no one. re-
ceive letters from my publishers re-
preaching me with my seclusion.
"Don't be hermit, my dear fellow"
saws one of the letters from the august
head of the house; "a little society will
freshen you up, and besides you have
really made 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 / feel the blood grow
cold within my veins at thought of pos
sible complications.
Can / 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 aport-
| ly looking old gentleman, and with him
a man of some 80 years, tall, dark, hand
some-just such o face as / love to por-
tray as the faces of my heroes.
81 beg your pardoni'
| Mr.. Anterior falls back, overcome
with surprise.
"The servant showed US in here. We
are DESTROYS of meeting Mr.. We're st.
| Albans. We are of the publishing firm
| of Anterior 81 Sons. / wish to see Mr..
st. Adams in regard to some especial
work. Will you kindly request him to
give us audience?
! feel my face growing red-redder
| reddest. 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 falter:
| "You cannot see We're st. Adams to-
| day, gentlemen. HE'S indisposed."
| So no is, indeed, indisposed to receive
| visitors.
! "You are Mrs. We're st. Adams, pre-
sume,'' he observes. And I--oll, depths
Of infamyi / am 80 embarrassed, SO
| overwhelmed with embarrassment I'M
der the cool, steady gaze of the younger
man that bow and mutter something
which sounds strangely like EYES,"
At that moment there is q curious bus
tie within the flat where my littlo home
1 Is situAreo. an uproar al NJ cnce, a11o
In rushes Abby, wild and disheveled,
and clings to my arm like mad crea'
ture.
s'Oh, Miss Verel Miss Vere:" she
shrieks. "the house is on fret Come, let
us get away, or we shall be burned
alivel'
It is all true. The fro has been burn
ing SO long unsupported that now it
breaks out with irresistible force. and
soon the whole building is in flames,
But long before then we are quite cafe.
NV 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
will do my best to save him!''
| my husbandr falter feebly. why,
have no husbandr
| "Then who is We're st. Albans9'
II ami
/ So the truth is told, and somehow
feel better.
When we are all safe on terra firma
nv new friend turns to me and says II
q low tone:
my name is Tom Anterior. My
young sister Calleu 10 ODbdlu fere Ot
Adams autograph. She is more than
half in love with the unknown and mys'
terious We're. l shall take pleasure in
undeceiving her"
Then after long pause, during which
he studies my shamed face attentively,
he adds:
Sand I am quite in love with We're st.
Albans. l have known that writer for
months through her manuscripts. Tell
me, is there any hope for me?'
What can say but murmur some
thing about short acquaintance and al
the rest of the conventional excuses that
flock through my brain. But time does
away with the first excuse, since he pro
ceeds henceforth to devote himself tt
cultivating my acquaintance, and ths
others he puts aside as he would shad
, ow.
So one day Tom takes me to his home.
and / am duly presented as his betrothed
wife in propria persona. - New YORK