Oxford Democrat. [volume] (Paris, Me.) 1833-1933, 1897-12-21
fair! My friend here wants MS money

fair! My friend here wants MS money
or some equivalent. There Is the agree
mtnt stay anil see your husband I"
Marion r,aI.agcd to grt "Ther you
n.ust stay past the lump IN her
throat. Then she ran back and locked
the bedroom door
They We gone ma'am. came
through the key yLoie ut last They
mumbled away for time. and then
they were suddt My quiet. think they
were frightened. They almost crept
ont. -
Marion. sitting back from Gilbert's
wild stare. .,and temporary relief in u
stream Of tears
The fr,, e.eam Of sunshine came at
the end OF three awful weeks Hartley,
physically safe, could cross his bedroom.
Only it terrified her TO realize that he
was but u living ,utomaton Six weeks.
and the mysterious stupor showed no
signs Of lifting And when he crept
down stairs again 1t was only to sit
staring vacantly through the hours.
And Christmas was close mt hand-dear.
Joyous Christmas!
Its most strange" said the doctor
one day. 1--WE been thinking-wba at
mild excitement would be likely to rouse
him!"
"Oh, the thcater-the play" she an
swered mechanically
Then take him Here. There's Q
matinee advertised for tomorrow ut tho
Jollity-sume new and wonderful drama
to be tried The very thing"
Gilbert. never seeming TO wonder
where the ,n1nry came from. assented.
and nc. ordinsly that next day. Christ
mas eve, found them both seated in the
Jollity II this failed
The pla. commenced. but Marion her
self had not come To be thrilled. Hold.
ing her huv, and's hand tightly, she sat
stealthily watching for sign Of dawn.
ing comprehension In vain During the
first aud s@ond acts his expression re-
mained NIL but lifeless. Suddenly. how
ever. Marion almost cried out His thin
fingers had been quivering Now, half
way through the last act, they closed
upon her own crnshingly The lights
were low. but she could see his eyes di.
lating Only too thankful that every
one appeared engross d by the play. she
whisperingly implored:
Try, try aud keep calm dear! It's
nearly over -
MY plot-my play he said You
You have let them steal my brains!'
For the moment she was stupefied.
Then. Nonsense, dear. she whispered
back 1t Is safe
my very words. he gasped. not
needing Let me go We been rob-
bed. robbed, III shout it all over the
city,
Then. indeed. she stared and tried 20
realize the play. but he was struggling
past There would be scene So, hold
ing his hand still. she followed him out
into the corridor Before she could pre-
vent It he had gripped an attendant =
shoulder
Your managerial once - he breath
ed. Your managcr! he repeated. rs a
swell OF applause drowned the man q
reply
The manager, In that box over
there Wha, name shall | say"
Gilbert Hartley-the author OF this
play
They followed him round winding
corridors and up to the door OF box
Two gentlemen wire Just emerging
laughingly v hen the white faced n.an
and winter faced woman barred their
way.
mot yet! demand. said Gilbert.
pointing. tho identity Of the man who
writes himself the author of that play.
why. said one coolly. II happen
to be the author Anything amiss:"
YOU Hartley. looking like one
just risen from the grave, put ont tive