The star. (Reynoldsville, Pa.) 1892-1946, 1895-02-13
THE VALENTINE.
by MARY c. PRESTON.

''No clients today" thought Philip
Achorn, as he turned from his Office
window and went back to his desk.
A fine rain was falling outside, n
rain which was freezing as it fell,
making the pavement us smooth as n
sheet of ice. The young lawyer knew
that few, save those who went forth to
earn daily bread, would venture out
this cold, dreary February morning (;
and the bread-winners of the city
never sought that airy, pleasant Office
of the talented and wealthy Philip
Achorn.
He was leaning idly back in his
chair, playing with a pen, which as
yet was innocent of ink, and dream
ing of pair OF gray eyes-laughing,
sunny, tender eyes-when the door
was pushed open, and young man
entered very unceremoniously.
Philip looked up with slight smile /;
evidently the newcomer was no
stranger to him, nor unwelcome.
Good you are all alone and idle, {"
said the visitor; "for just once in my
life, am going to employ you!"
'ies. To draw up your will, my
dear Guy?"
''Not exactly; but will you COM
pose verse or two-very sentimental
for a Valentine? 1 want to send
one, but I couldn't make rhyme to
save my life; you can. know. Will
you, Phil9"
81 write verses for love-sick
swain? My boy, you must wonder 1
don't throw you out of yonder win
dow! I am lawyer, not a scribbler
of rhymes!"
"But you can scribble rhymes, and
can't. Won't you help me? I've
Just set my heart on sending her some-
thing she'd like, and 1 knew you
would help me; you will, old boy?"
And Guy Azore. with his boyish
face flushed little, and his blue eyes
glowing, drew chair beside that of
his friend and sat down.
Philip looked at the impulsive face
indulgently a moment, then, with u
low laugh, drew forward some sheets
of paper, and dipped his pen in the
ink.
Here goes" he said, merrily. "Is
1t to be declaration, my boy? or do
you only wish to let her know that
you are hard hit, and leave her in a
state of blissful uncertainty as to
whether or not she is to have the pleas
ure of rejecting you later? Her eyes
are blue, are they not? That will fur
nish one rhyme, for of course I-you
will tell her that your love is true"
"See here, said Guy, moodily, 81
am hard hit, and if you are going to
chaff me-"
"But I'm not"
"Then go ahead; write just as YOU
would from yourself if you had met
Mabel Snowe and fallen in love with
her, and wanted to take advantage oil
Valentines Day to tell her, there's Q
good fellow"
"Mabel Shovel"
He paled little as he repeated the
name. All, those soft, gray eyes tha
had haunted him for weeks past-th,
fair girl-face that had seemed to hiu
so pure and sweet!
''Yes. Isn't it pretty name? Blu
her eyes are gray not blue. and
But you know about what want t,
say"
Yes, he knew. Without word, bu
with slight frown on his white fore
head, the young lawyer bent over hi
desk, and his pen went rapidly alonl
the paper.
AS he would write were he writin,
from himself, Guy had said. For
moment he forgot that it was not iron
himself the lines were to go to Mabe
Snowe. as he wrote rapidly, impatient
ly. - g.
Then, lifting his head, he suddenl
remembered, and with laugh tina
was not exactly mirthful, he pushe
the sheets across to Guy, who too
and read them eagerly.
! 'Jove! you're poet, Phil" erie