Western Kansas world. [volume] (WaKeeney, Kan.) 1885-current, 1895-06-08
SEVENTEENTH YEAR.

that Kitty had sacrificed a great deal
when she married him, but perhaps
the remuneration was not so one-sided
as he had imagined. For instance,
there was the club. He could no long
er afford to go there, and with it he
had renounced all intellectual society.
Kitty's people and their neighbors
were rich and respectable. Most ad-
mirab1e of their kind, they ate, drank,
slept, and made money; witha1, most
worthy creatures, but particularly un-
entertaining. Mr.. Turner her father,
was type-a kindly, honorable man,
but without the slightest artistic or
literary culture; he could talk for
hours of his business, and knew more
about tallow than any other man in
| England. Fortunately, his pride of
this distinction was slightly mitigated
| by the fact that he was also a connois-
! seQr of wines. His sons wore riding
| breeches on Sunday mornings and read
1.-THE Lunar MONTH in their bedrooms.
| His eldest daughter was gifted with
sufficient religious enthusiasm for ten
such families, while Mrs. Turner was
motherly in the extreme.
| His thoughts wandered to Georgia de
| Vaux, his old college chum, who had
shared those Gray's ina chambers. He
was always bright and witty, he could
dance all night and work all day, pull
a good oar, sail half-rater against the
best, walk fifty miles, ride like cen
taur, sing, drink and gamble, with
never headache or touch of repent
ance. Then the gay assemblage of
actors, artists and literary men, who
would there fore-gather to talk of any
| and everything, more especially of the
great things they were going to do.
! And by no means the least were those
| jolly holidays upon the river, the sea,
| and the continent. Faugh! it was
! awful to contemplate; whole month
| at a seaside boarding house. Yawn
over the newspaper all the morning, or
make the acquaintance of those objec-
tionable persons who, adorned with
| yacting caps, grace the esplanade and
! indulge in many morning bitters.' y
| Lunch, boredom, dinner, boredom in
tensifed by drawing-room filled with
! old spinsters, gIggling girls, and youths
who persist in singing, with the mis-
taken idea of amusing the sufferers.
The shadows deepened in the corners
of the room as the twilight died away.
The house was perfectly still, the gar
den looked cold and gloomy. It was
the silence and gloom of sorrow, for
his home was house of mourning.
Crossing the room wearily, he peeped
into the garden of dim shadows, press
| ing his feverish face against the cool
| glass; his dry eyes were heavy with
| anguish. Only two years ago they had
| planted those shrubs and flowers. She
with her little hands encased in huge
leather gloves, he in his dannels, WELD
ing spade like true son of Adam.
And the flowers still bloomed in their
Eden, but he must pace its paths alone.
| Other hands would pluck those flowers,
and other lovers sit in the arbor where
they had SO often watched the moon
light silver the rustling leaves. He
had lounged there with his pipe, care
less and happy, as she nestled at his
side, often in silence, sometimes whis-
pering sweet condolences.
By one whirl of the wheel of life it
was in the past, but still unburied.
Sinking into his chair he rested his
head upon his hands. It was very,
very dark. So swift and sudden had
the trouble come upon him that it still
| seemed like the haunting memories of
a terrible dream. But a few months
ago he was happy in the sweet COM
panionship of his wife; now he was
alone.
Happiness in this world depends
largely upon ability to forget. It was
not without a feeling of pleasure that
he had accepted De Vaux's invitation
to rejoin him in Gray's Inn. The
rooms seemed more comfortable than
before, and the freedom was delight
full. As the band upon his hat became
narrower, the restraint, prompted by
sympathy, with which men regarded
him, died away. He drifted back to
the old life with a feeling of pleasant
expectancy, but to find the world had
changed. It surprised him to discover
how selfish De Vaux had become, while
the manners of their ''Set'' panied him.
Their brilliancy seemed to have given
place to flash gaseousness, originality
to carping contentiousness; wit was
now insolent abuse, and humor posi-
tive vulgarity. Yet they were the
same actors without ''shop," authors
without a publisher, and less extraor-
binary imbeciles without an object
in life. With indolent interest he used
to expect great things from some of
them, but they were still squatting in
the mire. The Junior Gatherium had
been refurnished, and the cooking was
excellent, but the same decline was
noticeable among the members. The
tales old Badboy narrated in his cor
ner of the smoking-room were, to say
the least, unfit for publication, yet the
old fellow was his most cherished ac-
quaintance in the bygone days. The
place abounded in loud-yoiced bovs of