The Cape Girardeau Democrat. (Cape Girardeau, Mo.) 1876-1909, 1897-04-03

Oh- thank you, sir" and the baby!
eyes dropped modestly as he tightly
clutched the piece of gold put into hi.
palm. And then he heaved a deep
drawn sigh of relief, joy-what? ant
turned and left the room. Only wher
the child was entirely out of sight die
Winston realize that he had neglected
to obtain the name and address of the
new genius he had discovered. HE
turned the poem to the light, but witt
no success. Upon the back of the double
sheet, however, was a sketchy head
drawn family in pencil. The lines were
bad and the drawing crude in every
way, but the sketch was evidently in
tended for the cherub who had just
visited him. In one corner was tbs
artists name, Marie Wendall." Jot,
ting it down in his note book and pass
ing his hand over his forehead and eyes
as though to erase all outside impress.
sions, the great editor was no longer 4
man; he was once more a machine
With relief the waiting pressmen and
typos heard his whistle below and they
knew that whatever fit had took him.
as the devil" expressed it, the autocrat
was ready for work once more. But
they looked at each other aghast when
the message came over the tube:
Take out that article on the coal re-
gions I sent down half an hour ago and
set this poetry instead"
Surely, 1.-THE old man had gone off his
head"
That FORMS locked up and just 60
ing TO press" the foreman ventured TO
demonstrate.
"Rlast the form! Do as 1 say" came
from above.
But it'll take" Came again from
the depths.
$40 it if it takes all night. Who
owns this PAPER, anyway" roared Wins
ton, and shut the tube with a snap to
denote that as far as he was concerned,
the interview was over.
Something had disturbed him more
than usual. Perhaps it was the memory
of the little mound on the hillside-per-
maps it was something indefinite-an
impression too vague to be classified.
Whatever it was. in half an hour,
Winston declared himself through.
methodically tucked his blue pencil into
its accustomed slot, locked his desk, be
took himself to his club for dinner.
When he read over the poetry in the
great daily the next morning. there
was a something which arrested his at
tention. y scene Il memory came to his
mind. but it was too elusive for him
to spend any time in trying to catch it.
So he dismissed it from his thoughts.
\ distinct shock received an hour or
two later recalled ii all, and too forcibly.
This shock came in the shape of u note
from a fellow-editor:
What are you giving us, anyway"
wrote he. "You must nave been short
of copy indeed, to try to palm off on
your readers that old poem of Tenny-
sons as new matter. Marie Wenddll,'
too. Of all the colossal nerve! l think
it might be called the Great Ameri-
can"
T~ennvson's. No wonder there had
been a familiar ring to the lines! Why
had he SKINNED over them so hastily?
Why had he thrown caution to the
winds? Why, oh, why had he made
such an ass of himself that all who ran
might read? He turned sick and white
at the thought of all it meant-this fear
full blunder! If he only could hope
that the casual reader would not dis
cover it.
Any such hope as this was dashed
ruthlessly TO the ground during the
next few hours. Letters there were
from all directiCns-jeering they were,
angry, remonstrant, everything but
sympathetic. The world likes to be
humbugged, but it does not want the
fraud to be a palpable one like this.
And the readers of the great daily did
not hesitate to say so in most uncom
promising terms.
Wild with anger and modification,
and with ~imprecations deep if not loud,
the great editor set himself to find the
woman who had served him such a
trick.
at is only another evidence of the
utter deceit of the whole seN," he said
10 himself bitterly. The trail of the
serpent is over them ALL"
Without any address or other clew to
her whereabouts, to find the unknown
was no easy task. The simplest solu-
ton of the difficulty would seem to be
to wait until Saturday at three o'clock,
but he knew very well that she would
not put in an appearance. She was too
sharp for that. She mad the money,
and that was all she wanted.
With a grim smile that BODIED no good
to that young woman, he started out to
find the author of his woes. And by
but legitimate means, means
that no other man would have thought
of, John Winston tracked her at last.
This is Miss Wendall?:" inquired he,
most elaborate courtesy of the
lady in black who answered his
summons.
She bowed her head with a surprised
hat would ask his mission.
You write poetry, 1 believer" he
questioned again, with sarcastic defer
ence.
She gently shook her head and MUIR
INJURED a negative, with deeper wonder
on her face, to which was added a shade
fear. She thought her visitor must
/