The Worthington advance. [volume] (Worthington, Minn.) 1874-1908, 1896-08-13


be compelled to show thut he saw the
darned ends of the gloves fingers. It
would hurt him, her poverty; she felt
that it hurt him, and she had despised
him at times for it. Blu: now-wcn,
that was all changed; she would go to
the bank in the morning, to his bank
he had long ago stepped into the old
cashiers shoes-and she would deposit
he1 fifty thousand with him, until she
could look about for lawyer and adj
just herself to the change of her circum-
stances. But she would enjoy handing
that money over to the cashier; she
smiled into the little withered face that
peeped at her from the old-fashioned
mirror over her old-fashioned bureau.
She had been living in a very old-fash-
toned world for 20 years, but she would
brush up little bit now. When one IN
not able to keep in line with the process
sion, one cares very little the direction
the procession takes.
She went TO bed at last. and to sleep,
with the fifty thousand running through
her brain like water through the mill
to sleep and woke up with the night
mare and screaming; she had dreamed
there was man under the bed.
~ really don't know whatever shall
do with it," she told herself the next
morning, when eating her solitary
breakfast. IF it is to disturb my rest
in this way shall wish Cousin John mad
left his money in California"
But she forgot her worry when once
she had donned her o1d-fashioned gray
bonnet, had draped her lace mantilla
about her shoulders and hidden her lit
tie fire-browned face behind an old
berege veil of bright-green hue. Her
dress was gray, too, and rather short for
the fashion; the trim, little old maiiy-
looking feet tripped down the main
street and into the handsome bank
building at the corner of the public
square, as clear of her skirts as ship of
its sails after storm off the Florida
reefs.
Miss Elizabeth passed the teller's win
dow and went around to the cashiers
desk.
He looked up from a heap Of papers
that 10y upon his desk, and saw the lit
tie gray figure of the old maid standing
there, looking at him through the brass
bars of the railing. There was queer
something about the little withered
face that carried him back to the night in
June when he had broken faith with her
in the musk-rose summerhouse. She
did not see the old youth in his face,
however; there was a pallidness about
it that extended to the very lips, as
though with his teeth he had pinched
the lifeb!ood out of them. He rose, half
clinging to the desk to steady himself.
A clerk passing at the moment won
dered what the old maid had said that
had upset him so. The cashier stood at
the opening IN the rail waiting for her
to speak.
II came to make little-deposit,"
she began, and stopped. "Are you
sick, Oscar?"
NO." said he, II am not sick, only
tired; very, very tired. I did not sleep
last night. What is it you want, Eliza
beth?"
She blushed, ashamed that she had
planned such meanly contemplate
trick.
'My cousin, out in California, died
some months ago, and left me little
money. have it to-day by the express,
and would like to leave it until I arrange
my plans. am going west to make my
home with his wife,
She handed the express package
through the window-bonds, certifi-
Gates, stocks, all. He did not touch ii;
only looked at her in a wondering way,
and said:
"How much is it, Elizabeth? How
much did your cousin leave you?
I'm all, he left me fifty thousand dol
lars" she replied, in q low. uneven voice.
"Come with me a moment" he said,
when the first surprise was over; "come
in here"
He threw open the door of his private
office, and held it wide for her to enter,
closing it behind them again.
Then he placed the package on the
desk between them, and stood off, with
his arms folded upon his breast, and
looked upon her in silence. The little
old figure in rusty gray. the silvered
hair, the small, misunderstanding shoes,
the gloves with their darned fingers, the
green veil, the faded face with the time
marks about the eyes that had once
been girlish blue. Circumstances, cir
cumstances, how it rusts out life for us,
dragging the wheels down into the
creases itself has made. The circum-
stances that had put him into the
cashiers shoes had put her into the
darned fingers.
elizabeth" said he. looking down at
her, "you must not put your money into
this bank. Tomorrow it will be closed,
suspended" She gave queer little
cry and voluntarily put out her hand
for the package. He stopped, and pick
ing it up from the desk, handed it to
her. II did you wrong once" he con-
timed, land I will not do you another.
This bank will not open tomorrow"
She must say something; her throat
was dry and hard; she felt her revenge