Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1897-01-09
The Story Teller.
ONE WAY TO woo

Miss Shepherd was an emotional or.
child grown under the glass Of repression
through which beat the merciless rays
of an abnormal conscience always at
tropical zenith. Had she lived in the
good old days when liberty and the
stake were planted side by side on New
England soil, she might have obtained
comfortable solace by burning witches
and exhibiting other devotional graces
indicative of deep and discerning spir-
ituality. But this pious sedative to a
restless conscience was denied her. Un-
fortunately her mortal advent had been
delayed until this grosser age when the
most spiritual lawgiver would think
twice before condemning hereto to
the flames and when many are so weak
and vacillating as to admit that they do
not know the whole truth. She pos
sessed an unreasonable reason. which
had to be satisfied with the plain food
of transparent moralities and would
take no other. To her obtuse spiritual
vision abstract right appeared in the
guise of an inevitable rule Of conduct
and this curious mental deformity natu-
rally drew her into endless predica-
ments of the most uncomfortable kind.
As she came up the steps Of the
Wells street station and pushed past the
bus drivers and cabmen along the curb,
she was rushing forward into the vortex
of one Of these conscience whirlpools
more swift and turbid than any which
had yet tossed and swirled her frail but
venturesome bark on its black waters.
Far from being weighed down by any
premonition of this impending condi-
lion, che was conscious only Of the fa-
miliar smell of roasting coffee which
came on the lake breeze from the whole
sale coffee houses to the east. The
fragrance made her hungry and she
found herself tempted, at scandalously
early hour, into the refectory'of big
State street department store where she
went to shop. Her appetite always
seemed to suffer a.sudder imitation on
coming from Gray Willow into the city.
"Grace Shepherdp'
This exclamation arrested the delicate
china cup on its initial trip to her lips,
as she caught sight of tall young man
at her side standing with his napkin in
hand. She responded:
"Frank-Mr. Hyatt! thought you
were in London reveling in fog, ale and
other bohemian ct ceteras, victimizing
publishers and writing yellow literature
for yellow books. u
II guess you've been reading the
Gray Willow Gazette, Grace, eh? The
country editor at home was simply prac-
ticing for my obituary. They're delight
fully anticipatory creatures. I'm panied
to make the confidential report, how
ever, that at the present time I'm grasp.
ing after a few literary gems with which
to illumine the select advertising pages
Of magazine:
"She said she never, never would elope
And spurn fathers care, mothers sighs,
So long as Golden Lily toilet soap
Was kept among the family supplies!
"More on application. And it floats
me at $40 per. I've used no other
since. Incidentally am writing nov
el-but that doesn't even float itself.
But tell me about yourself, Grace. Are
you staying in town now?"
II begin today. I'm to be compan.
ion, or something of the kind, to Mrs.
Chester P. Graves and her daughter in
Prairie avenue.
"Yes?' And he smiled guiltily. II
think you'll find tie position rather
pleasant. In fact, I've worked at it a
bit myself. Call there once or twice a
fortnight. Phoebe is rather pretty girl
stylish and all that-but, well, I'd
hate to leave package of 'tuty fruty'
in any of her secret haunts today if l
cared as much for it as when we three
used to sit in the back row at the Gray
Willow school,"
In the disturbing recollections Of her
chance encounter with one who bad
been constantly in her thought since the
first time when he had "seen her home'
from conference meeting in Gray Will
low she almost forgot that she was to
meet Mrs. Graves in the silk depart
ment and be driven to her new home in
the Graves carriage.
"This," said Mrs. Graves after they
had gone to the cham bers of the Prairie
avenue mansion, ''is to be your room. l
hope you will like it. Let me stay and
chat with you as you unpack your
trunk. Goodness, what stack of white
paper! One would think you wrote for
the papers
A noncommittal smile on the part Of
the young woman was practical plea
Of guilt.
"How lovely! Why didn't you tell
me of this? It's just the very accom-
plishment I most desire in a compan-
ion for Phoebe. But hope you write
poetry. Yes? Splendid! I shall have
that lovely writing desk which we no.
ticed down town sent up TO your room
tomorrow, and you II do me some verses
right away, won't you, dear? Of course
I shall pay you extra for them. want
to-well, they are just what want. u
Had it not been for something which
startled tho speculation out OF her mind