The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1896-09-05

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them. From the dais of his back
platform he raised finger, fixed as
fate imperially pointing back. Jud-
son broke his pace and stood still.
He lived in a city of trolley-cars; their
signs were known to him.
Its no matter of use," he said i,
catching his friends arm-"no use, |
tell you, Mel; that car is behind
time. It'll pike out all the way. You
might as well try to stop the sun.
Here's another coming just behind
How far does she live from where the
cars stop?"
"a three minute walk" groaned
Mel; they stop at her avenue gate,
and run three minutes apart, just long
enough to let that idiot boy in at her
door as we step off the platform"
cts poor chance" said Judson,
"but it's all we've got Here's the
car"
1t was an open car, and the subur-
ban road it took was charming, with
high banks here and low meadows
there, and hedges of blooming lilacs
or ragged grapevines, with wild
morning-glories clutching at the bare
branches, pretending that their gay
| ha e 4
old vines. Mel grasped nothing of
all this. He saw only dusty road
and lines of track ahead. When now
and then long straight stretch let
him discover on the horizon the d.
minishing end of the car he pursued
he would mournfully raise his fore
finger and point out the speck to Jud-
son, who would nod in reply. Only
once did Mel speak during the ten
minute transit.
Suppose that baby wakes7"
"We've got enough to think of
without supposing," said Judson
This couldn't have happened to any
body but Frenchman."
'It couldn't have happened to any
body but me, or one other man | used
to know in Paris. His name was +"
"You needn't introduce him to
me" said Judson.
"No," said Mel, meekly. "Here's
the avenue gate"
As they ran up the avenue there
was no breath to waste in words.
Mel pointed silently to the print of
boyish boot in the gravel. Judson
again nodded, and they ran faster,
until sudden curve in the road
showed them the house that had been
hidden by trees.
"Therev' cried Mel, stopping
short. The front door was just clos
ing.
Come on" urged Judson-'come
on" He dragged Mel forward, and
rang the door-bell violently.
Mel grasped Judson's hand. "You
are better than a friend" he said,
Imply. 81 shall never forget your
sympathetic kindness. Of course, as
my intimate friend, you know how 1
have loved her. But she doesn't
dream it; | never dared to tell her,
being only poor musician, and she
having everything on earth money
can buy"
Except poor musician" said
Judson, (which may be the one thing
she wants.
Mel shook his head. "Not after
this, anyhow. Add one little favor
to the rest, my friend; keep some
where near Lie, and if all goes wrong.
just kindly lead me home. Idon't
know what l may do or say"
"Lie," urged Judson. "Now re-
member that, Miel-lie for all you are
worth. You never saw this baby be-
fore. You told the boy to carry out
your violin case for you, and in your
momentary absence from the room
somebody stole the violin and re-
placed it with the baby. What's
the matter now? You didn't"
eyes, l did. While you were down
stairs l wrote my address on the card
and laid it in my case, with line to
say how l got the child, and that if
the natural parents were not found l
would take it back again."
What Judson then replied Mel did
not hear, which was perhaps just as
we'll. At that moment the door
opened. Mel strobe past the man
who had let them in, and stood in
the square hallway, staring about
him. There was at first no sign of
the bell-boy or the violin-case. Then
there was a parting of the curtains
that shrouded a doorway at the end
of the hall, and the bell-boy appeared
empty-handed, gaping at the sight of
Judson, who promptly caught him by