The Brunswick times. [volume] (Brunswick, Ga.) 188?-1900, 1897-09-12
A MERRY LAUGH.

A veteran gallant in the first orches.
ira chair YEARLY adjusted his monocle.
"Gad" said ne, II would give half
my life TO laugh like the damsel in the
box. Cad! What is there in those
mountebanks to put such joy in a
laugh?"
'Bandy," chuekled his companion,
you We lived too long. The dam sci in
the box has just begun. There's no get
ting round it, my boy, it does make a
difference. "
But the girl in the box, forgetful of
play and playhouse, laughed on. She
was reveling in an elysium in which
capricious editors, importunate land
ladies and disappointed ambitions had
no part. Suddenly conscious that her
merriment die not fit in with the play
on the boards, she turned a furtive
glance to the orchestra. The curtains
of the box parted.
If this is not Miss Madeline Lycette.
formerly of Terre Haute, later of 234
Rue st. Jacques, Paris, Rolston Cham
berlain of Lincoln's Inn court, London,
begs thousand pardons. "
You heard?' gasped the girl.
IL did," said the young man.
DO you know the last act recalled
the night you and Thorndyke, disguised
as gendarmes, knocked at the madame's
door and demanded in the name of the
prefecture of the police my Immediate
arrest as an anarchist spy, giving the
number of the cab and the name of the
place from which I had driven that
day to interview Michel. -
Curious" said the young man. "I
was thinking Of the very same episode,
when two old fellows down there in
the orchestra called my attention to
your laugh"
Mental telegraphy"
Royal good luckl"
"And it was ages ago. sighed Miss
Lycette.
Fully century," acquiesced Mr..
Chamberlain.
And you re not yet lord CHANCELLOR"
And you have yet to write the long
expected American novel?''
They had drawn their chairs within
the seclusion of the box, while ten years
were thus glibly stricken off the calen-
dar.
do tell me of the Thorndykes. "
"The madame's dead. -
Dead? Poor soull'
Don Il. say that. We're she alive, in
all probability would not be here. -
"Nonsensel Everything drifts here
sooner or later !"
Its in the interest of her estate''-
''Oh, I see, the heir married an Amer
lean wife. He always said he intended
to-
and he did intend to until he fell
in love with you. ="
THAT settled it, ;" smiled the girl.
You see, you were the first Ameri-
can he met, and he concluded-he con-
cluded'---
After the Catacomb fiasco'-
Exactly-that if all les bellies Amer
icaines were like Madeline Lycette he
would have none of them"
Wisdom one would never have cred
tied him."
Again their laughter failed to fit in
with the play.
1t was radiantly sunshiny day in
early spring-the spring that engen-
ders dissatisfaction, revolt, indefinable
yearning. Miss Lycetto had sped along,
jostled hither and thither, unmindful
whittier she was going. Anything, any
where, for brief forgetting. A reject
ed manuscript upon the acceptance of
which literally depended for the nonoe
her bodily sustenanoe weighed her
pocket.
Too sad Our readers won't have
it, :" was the verdict of the optimistic
editor of Every Day In the Year. Give
us the gay, the sprightly. You can do
it. -
Too sad! Too sadr' 1t seemed to
the girls overweight, self questioning
soul that the editors of Gotham had
COnspired of late to execute every off
spring of her fancy on the same verdict
-"Too sadr' How could one write
Otherwise i'll the face of continued fail
ure-failure that forced one to question
the raison d'etre of the gayety, the
sprightliness of which the old world
never wearies "There's lots of romance
and adventure in the hard workaday
world" Had not the editor said it?
It's grand mistake concluded
Miss Lycette, catching the reflex of Sat
urday afternoon Broadway festiyity,
g to take oneself-the world-anything
too seriously. To creep into ones
hole and NOPE when the gods cease to
smile is arrant cowardice If romance,
adventure, cease to come ones way,
and they are still the elixir the world
Graves, then it behooves one, in behalf
Of bread, if not art, to sally forth to
meet them on their own happy hunting
ground"
Beg pardon, madame, it's my turn, +"
Lost i'll the phantasmagoria of spring
millinery the rustic of silk and the
odor of violets surging into an up town
theater, Miss Lycetto was swept along, !
until unwittingly she usurped the place
q an lrate dame at the box office.
II was too late to retreat.
What will you have?"
What have you got?"
Lower box -