The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1895-02-14
THOMSON'S ROMANCE.
Why He Gave a Rose Dinner
Every Year.

three fads, for some indefinite period
like years and years" Nobody
seemed to remember the time when he
had not chambers in Jermyn street,
when he did not give his well-composed
little dinners, or when he failed to
ride hard his hobby of amateur photog-
raphy.
We rather prided ourselves on know
ing our Thomson by heart. He was
one of those rare and comfortable be-
ings who have early ceased to dabble
in the unexpected. To us who bobbed
up and down on the see-saw of ambi-
ton the very thought of Thomson
brought repose. No stretch of imagi-
nation comprised the idea of his being
promoted, or becoming distinguished,
or getting married. or doing anything
rash and disturbing Nevertheless,
there came time when Thomson be-
gan to cause us uneasiness. Two years
in succession, on June 4-and yet
Thomson was cot an Etonian-he in
vited us to dinner. and we found his
room transformed into bower of
roses. There were flowers every
where. in amazing profusiOn-nOt rare
or costly blooms. but evidently the
very cream of an English garden. In
response to our cries of wonder. he
merely remarked that he had received
a hamper from the country-Thomson,
who had no near relatives, no friends
but ourselves.-and offered no further
explanation. The third year, and the
fourth, history repeated itself, and we
tacitly concluded that this date
marked some romantic milestone in
ThomSons unromantic life.
We chaffed Thomson the following
June about the flowers and we thought
he looked grave. We let the subject
drop. 1t was who, couple of years
later, inadvertently revealed the fact
that we had interpreted the recurrent
episode romantically
Il don't know why l haven't told
you about it." he said Il suppose be-
cause it was such trihe. But, not
wasn't trife to that woman"
1t never is" l remarked, pro-
foundly.
at was just six years ago that took
my first walking tour with my kodak
dare say you remember. | had passed
through Finley one glorious June morn
ing, and on the outskirts | came across
one of the prettiest cottages | ever
saw in my life. Gables. you know,
and a porch framed in honeysuckle;
and, running up the hill behind the
house, au oldfashioned garden-such a
garden
1Trnt hnG al Ia-
gun in a garden.
"A little boy was swinging on the
gate" Thomson went on. pretty little
chap about six. ! should think. He
was lashing the gate with a great
bunch of whitethorn, and chirruping
to his steed as he swung back and
forth. He looked across the road at
me and laughed. If you'll keep quite
still while l count six, III give you
bright new shilling, said. He eyed
me critically. | set the focus, and
sighted the child in the finder of my
kodak. | saw that the hillside garden
and the honeysuckle porch would come
into the scope of the picture; but
wished the child hadn't grown so pre-
ternaturally grave. What you got in
the box? he said. III show you in a
minute if you keep quiet, l answered.
Now, quite still!' Just as | put my
finger to the button, a cuckoo in the
cOpse began to call The child lifted
his curly head and listened rapturous
ly. It's my bird he said; but just be-
fore he spoke l had pressed the kodak
button. Some one shouted Billy from
the cottage. and the child scrambled
down from the gate. Here's your
shilling 1 said. He turned back,
thrust his small hand through the
white fence for his prize, and scam
pered off with it.
II had only a short holiday that
year; and on my way home, going from
Thorpe to Trenton, | took wrong
turning, and found myself near Finley
again. | didn't really care, for had
made my forty-eight exposures, and
wasn't looking for anything new. 1t
was furiously hot the morning | saw
the picture cottage for the second time.
l came on it from behind the hill at the
back, and saw that the place was in
reality a small farm. i dare say they'd
give me Il glass Oh Hlllk, L InOuPnl; ana
by way of making a short cut,
climbed a wall and dropped on the
other side. But | came down on a
wobbly stone lying in ditch, lost my
balance, turned my ankle, and lay
cursjng dismally for some minutes
Then limped up to the house. There
was no one about, and yet it wore an
inhabited air. | knocked at side
door, and leaned heavily against the
Intel No one came. l limped round
to the front My little friend wasn't
hanging over the gate this time. l
went into the porch and knocked again.
The door was opened-a woman of
about five-andthirty, looking very i'll,
| thought, stood there waiting TO know
my errand.
Can you let me have glass of
mike | said. | wanted nothing in
the world so much as an excuse to sit
down.
Yes, | suppose So she said, indif
ferently. Come this way
II followed her into the kitchen.
She gave me a chair and went out |
sat nursing the injured ankle till she
came back with the milk.
al passed here about ten days ago.
/ said, 'On my way to Trenton.