The Washburn leader. [volume] (Washburn, McLean County, N.D.) 1890-1986, 1894-09-01
IN PROPRIA PERSONA


out around ne. Yet, l am i'll a pretty
o IA luxurious room-with a glor.
lous fire glowing in the silver barred
CRATE, and the curtains of frosty lace
half-obscuring the outside world. A
room with a warm crimson carpet; q
]ardlniere Of blooming plants. a red
bird swinging idly to and fro in its
gilded cage, a piano in the corner, and
pictures on the walls. And books
books-everywhcre. This is my es
pecial sanctun, my w den. whittier
l retreat from the storms Of !;im world,
the cold pitiless blasts of adversely
and find peace. Yet, l am n wo.nan-
a sensitive, imaginative woman--and if
sometimes a tiny touch of discomfort
starts into my lleart-a feeling of lone
liness-it surely needs not concern any
one but myself. Man was not made
to live alone" and, for the matter of
that, neither was woman. Yet, better
a lonely single life than an unhappy
double existence. So l say as 1 80 over
to my desk, and seat myself for the
daily grind"
First, l. will introduce myself. My
name is Vera st. Adams Hale, and I
am a newspaper correspondent, writer
of magazine articles, and anything else
in the Imagination line for which 1 can
find sale. The reader must not object
to the implied inference that the news
paper correspondent is to be classed
with the writer's Of fiction. Yet,
whence do they CLEAN all their scraps
of wonderful information?
For n limo f;.ro 7 hovo hoon u,r;<;np
articles for q leading magazine under
a masculine nom de plume, We're st.
Adams, which is an Authorization of my
WI given name, attached to my second.
10 my surprise, the articles have been
received with far more appreciation
than I had dared to hope for, and that
fact, accompanied by liberal checks,
mas proved a very pleasant episode in
my Woodworking existence. This morn
ing, as I seated myself at my desk,
preparatory to coming, down on the
days work like the traditional wolf
on the fold, I am interrupted by the
appearance of my own servant-a girl
with a fair, open countenance, and gen
eral vacuity.
Well, Abby" I observe, a little testi-
", for she is transgressing a we'll
AuAS 4SStAul1lS lAC 1A~lClIuplluS
of my work, what is it,"
please, MISS lin a solemn voice
which somehow provokes me to smile),
there is a lady-that is to say, a girl
in the deception-room!"
A small antechamber where nv
stray visitors are first received before
beingf welcomed into the sanctum.
I smile a little more.
room AhhrO r oouroo%
severely, but feeling an Irresistible de-
sire to expand the smile into a laugh.
what is her business?"
"Oh, she wants to see Mr.. We're St.
Albans-that's the very name, MISS
(%proudly),' 1--WE said it over and over
till I know it's right"
Mr.. We're st. Adams"
I repeat the name-the unlucky name
i'm a bewildered way.
"Why what does she wish of him?"
Abby c%ourtesies.
Please, miss, I don't know. But
she's a carryin' a little book in her
hand. No, Miss! she's not a book-acent
cause I asked her. She is a college.
girl she says, and-and-I believe it's
some writing she wants done"
l arise in mock resignation. I did
have an idea-a bright and brilliant
idea In my brain when 1 seated N.Y.
self at the desk this morning-lt has
flown now. Will it ever return?
I take myself into the reccption-room
and find my visitor-a pretty little
schoolgirl, ov%erdressed and laden with
with school-books. CONSPICUOUS on the
very top lies a velvet bound volume;
YES, I have seen such volumes before.
many a time and Oft" and it does not
require the word Autographs" in huge
gilt letters to explain its mission. She
arises at once.
Pardon me for intruding," she be.
gins; but L have vcntured to call to
request the autograph of the great
writer, We're St. Adams. Will YOU
kindly interccde in my behalf, madame.
and beg him to write in my album?"
There is the situation in a nutshell,
She believes We're st. Adams to be a
nan, and she wants his illustrious auto.
graph. Well, the very easiest way in
the world to get it over with, and be
ut liberty to return to my days work
at the desk, is to grant her request.
Il will ask him." l return, feeling
like a small conspirator.
"Oh! will you, plcase?" Her face
lighting up wonderfully. "How good
in you! You see there's a wager on it.
Brother Tom has bet me a dozen pairs
Of kid gloves-six buttons and assorted
shades-that I'll not be able to get st.
Adams autograph. He says that there
is a mystery about him. I think you
are very kind to promise to help mel"
she adds. gushingly.
1 do my best to repress a smile, and
so taking the book from her hand I
retire to the privacy Of my sanctum,
where I proceed to inscribe my name
in my largest, manifest chirography.
I dry it carefully. and return to the
reception room.
"Oh, how very kind in you" my WIS.,
itor gushes again. II shall prize it as
long as I live! Are you his sister"
I shake my head.
"Oh!. not hiscwife?" -.
I fancy CONSERVATION in the sweet.
shrill, glrlish voice. Evidently the fact
of q "better-half" would forever OBJ.
scure the fame of the popular writer.
Again I shake my head.
"Vere st. Adams Is not married."
II return; and the violet eyes dance
with delight. She is pleased, and does
not attempt to conceal 1t.
II am his nearest FRIEND" I add.
explanatorily, nearer to him than any
one else"
And then I bow her out, and go back
RI INV work. But all day long I am