Connecticut western news., 1897-03-04
A HAUNTED TEACHER
VEAL cL TLETS AND CHIN WHISPERS
 SEEMED TO BE EVERYWHERE.
They Drove Her Out of Europe, but Even Then Her Troubles Were Not at an End. A Strange Tale of Good Deed and Its Reward.

Then Her Troubles Were Not at an End.
 A Strange Tale of a Good Deed and Its
 Reward.
 It was in the Faubourg St. Something or Other, or the Rue de St. Something Else. At any rate it was in Paris Miss Watson, a teacher in the Louisville schools, being on her vacation, went to foreign lands to spend an intellectual six months respite from her language classes. She en- tered a cafe on the thoroughfare above mentioned, and, looking about her, saw middle aged man with chin whiskers and no mustache, who sat at neighboring table. It is a well known fact, that aside from the ecclesiastical exception of Methodist bish- ops, no one but an American capitalist has sufficient courage to go about the world wearing only chin whiskers and no mustache. As Miss Watson heard very distinctly the sound of half subdued pro fane language, she felt that this man was not bishop, and was therefore a capital ist. She noted that a garcon stood near him and that the garcon was in as much French trouble as the capitalist was in American wrath. Miss Watson felt intui- | lively that the grief was simply question | of language, and leaving her escort sho approached the table of her countryman and said:
 "I wonder If can be of any service to | you?''
 "Ma'ams" calculated the stranger "Oh, yes, ma'am, if you will be so kind Do you know what is French for breaded | veal outlets? have tried every way known | to man to let this here garsen know that I want breaded veal outlets, and he seems to get ignoranter and more initerate every | minute '
 Miss Watson smiled graciously, and | speedily set the mans troubles at rest by | directing the garcon in the language of the | Gaul to serve him with the thing which | his heart desired
 "You don't know how much obliged to you I am" said the American earnestly. Two weeks afterward Miss Watson was working her intellectual way through the | Florentine galleries. The summer sun of Italy hung like a silver disk In the blue sky. Miss Watson was intently studying some dismal looking old daub, over which, according to tradition. 1t was proper to | gush, when suddenly she heard half re- melnbered voice: "I beg your pardon, ma am, but Is 1t possible you re the woman | that ordered the veal outlets for me in ParisP Iwant to tell you how much obliged am.''
 "Oh, don't mention it, I beg" said Miss Watson, her rhapsodizing dream dissipated beyond recall at the sight of those chin | whiskers.
 He stuck to her all afternoon and talked about hides and leather. He was in the hide and leather business.
 Miss Watson rose early on the Tuesday of the week following and went out upon the promontoried cliff at the edge of the Interlaken hotel grounds to see the sun rise. Of to the east glare of gold shot | upward from the horizon line to melt into the azure of the sky as the azure imper- | ceptibly mingled with the overarching sable of the night, which was vanishing slowly from the land. Miss Watson's vory soul was moved. She clasped her hands | upon her breast, and with face uplifted she seemed in an ecstasy of admiration, when suddenly from rearward came a voice:
 "I beg pardon, ma am, but ain't you the lady that ordered my veal outlets for mef You will never know how much obliged am to you. I'm mighty glad to sec you" And with the unwhiskered DOT tion of his face beaming with delight, the American capitalist came out of the semi shade toward her.
 It was the Venice of moonlight. The silver beams fell upon the water like & benison, and path of light seemed to ex- tend from the heart thrilled teachers feet and out across the lagoon and up to the sweet orb of night. Miss Watson stood on the Via Something and turned her fond gaze from the moon and the swift gliding gondolas, and, closing her eyes, said softly
 1T stood in Venice on the bridge of Si''- "I beg your pardon, ma'am, a glad, cheerful voice borke in, "but ain't you the lady that ordered my veal outlets for me in Paris? Amt it funny that we should meet heref I'm glad of it, though. You don't know how much obliged I am to you"
 The whiskers themselves fairly glowed with joy. Certainly they in their enthusi- asm drove the Bridge of Signs and about everything else Venetian out of the mind of Miss Watson. Very wearily and sadly she begged of the capitalist not to mention it.
 It was in Athens. The Acropolis rose like memorial device set to mark the death and burial of an entire world, and in the valley the white city lay, more a ghostly part of the past than a real part of the present. There was a mystic sub. li1nity, grand solemnity about 1t all.
 Here was the place where centuries had
 been born to grow large and great with events. Here-but much more than can
 be told in the scant space at present at our command can be learned from a perusal of Professor Thcllings' "Athens, the Old
 en-" Suffice it to say that Miss Watson, , having read this book, knew exactly what , to think and dream and muse upon, and
 she was doing all three with all her heart,
 when suddenly quick step was heard be
 hind her, and as a detached stone rolled down the side of the hill a somewhat ia
 miliar voice spoke:
 "I beg your pardon, ma am, but ain't you the same lady that ordered my veal
 outlets for mef" And he continued to tel
 her how grateful he was for her kindnes:
 on that day and to say he wished he could
 hear some quotations from the hide and
 leather market.
 It was purely accidental. Every one o1 [ these meetings had been without any de
 sign whatever, and the following one.
 were equally impromptu. The following
 Assuredly. For as Miss Watson was view
 ing the winter palace in St. Petersburg in , to her surprised ear were spoken words oi
 gratitude for Parisian veal outlets; as shs , walked into the hallowed space of Ober ammergau to her were borne sudden ejac
 ulations of delight, and she knew that ths chin whiskers were thankfully present
 the faces of Brussels won her woman. heart, but while in the midst of enthusi astic inspection of them voice cried, 'l
 beg pardoI', ma am, but" and so on with the recital of thanks for those horri . ble outlets; at Stratford she stopped tt l shed tear on the tomb of the Avon bard l and as she was shedding 1t voice broke 1T s upon her devotions and there was joyou,
 repetition of gratitude for the breakfast o ? long ago; by accident they met in West minister abbey in the poets corner, ane
 hides and leather were joined to thanks z She was fairly driven out of Europe. Tn, | memory of those veal outlets was nevei
 allowed to fade from her mind. At last } she engaged passage for home, determined ' to end so profltless a vacation. The boat 1 was steaming up the Narrows. Land had 8 long since been happily sighted, and those
 who had been too sick to come on deck were now bravely at the rail. The sur , rose magnifcently and lighted the waters Far ahead dark figure stood against tn, l rlrxr If dnnr crrar,d nll l llhHrty thl