Keowee courier. [volume] (Pickens Court House, S.C.) 1849-current, 1898-06-16
THE PROMISE.
ga PRISONER or WAR.v


ticularly bad humor this raw Deoem-
Der morning. Everything had gone
wrong. Stocks had fallen when they
ought to have risen-his clork had
tipped over the inkstand on his spe-
cial and peculiar heap of paper-the
fire obstinately refused to burn in
tho grate--in short, nothing went
right, and Mr.. Dcane was conse-
quently and oorresrondingly cross.
"Jenkins p
eyes, sir ~
eco to the Widow Clarkson's, and
tell her | shall be there in half an
hour, and expect oonfidently-mind,
Jenkins, confidently to receive that
rent money. Or else shall feel my
self obliged to resort to extreme
measures. You understand, Jen-
kins ?"
"Certainly, sir"
"Then, don't stand there starin'
like an IDIOT" snarlcd Mr.. Deane, in
sudden burst of irritation and
Jenkins disappeared like a shot.
Just half an hour afterwards Mr..
Matthew Dcane brushed the brown
hair just sprinkled with gray away
from his square yet not unkindly
brow putting on his fur-lined over
coat he walked forth into the chilly
winter air fully determined, fgura-
lively, to annihilato the defaulting
Widow Clarkson.
1t was dwarfish little red brick
house which appeared originally to
have aspired to two-storyhood lot,
but crampcd by circumstances had
settled down into a story and a half !;
but the windows shone like Brazilian
pebbles, and the doorstcps were worn
by much securing. Neither of these
circumstances, however, did Mr..
Deane remark as he pulled the gilt
tering brass door knob, and strobe
into Mrs. Clarkson's neat parlor.
There was small firc-very small,
as if every lump of anthracite was
boarded, in the stove, and table
with writing implements before her,
sat a young lady whom Mr.. Deane at
once recognized as Mrs. Clarkson's
niece, Miss Olive Mellan. She was
not disagreeablc to look upon, though
you would never have thought Of
chasing her among the beauties, with
shining black hair, blue, long -lashed
eyes, and very pretty mouth, hiding
teeth like rice kernels, so white were
they.
Miss Mellen rose with polite nod,
which was grimly reciprocated by
Mr.. Deanc.
81 have called to see your aunt,
Miss Mellen."
81 know it, sir, but as i an aware
of her timid temperament, I sent her
away. 1 prefer to deal with you
myself"
Mr.. Deane started-the cool auda-
city Of this damsel in gray, with scar
let ribbons in her hair, rather aston
ished him.
81 suppose the money is ready2"
"No, sir, it is not"
"Then, Miss Olive, pardon me; l
must speak plainly. | shall send an
officer here this afternoon to put a
valuation on the furniture, and
"You will do nothing of the kind,
sir"
Olives check had Redeemed and
her eyes flashed portentiously. Mr..
Deano turned toward the door, but
ere he knew what he was doing,
Olive had walked quietly across the
room, locked the door and taken out
tho key; then abe resumed her seat.
"What does this meanp ?" eiacu-
lated the astonished "prisoner OF
war"
"it means, sir, thai you will now
be obliged to reconsider the ques-
tion," said Olive.
"Obliged ?"
"Ycs-you will hardly jump ont
of the window, and there is no other
method of egrcss unless you choose
to 60 up the chimney. Now, then,
Mr.. Deane, will you tell mo if you
q Christian man in the Nineteenth
century--intend to sell poor
/ widows furniture, because she is not
able to pay your rent. Listen, sir"
Mr.. Doano had opened his mouth
to demonstrate, but Owe enforced
her words with very emphatic lit
tie stamp of the foot, and he was, as
it were, stricken dumb.
"You arc what tho world calls q
rich man, Mr.. Deane. You own
rows of houses, piles of bank stock,
railroad shares, bonds and mortgages
who knows what2 NV amt has