Semi-weekly register. (Brookings, Brookings Co., S.D.) 1894-1898, 1898-11-25

damsel OF forty, there is a dining
chamber up stairs, SO low that tall
| man standing upright can almost touch
the ceiling with his head, and so badly
lit by narrow window that light of
some sort is necessary even by broad
day.
In this upper chamber, one foggy af-
ternoon in autumn, three years after
the occurrence of the events described
in the last chapter, man was seated
alone and busily writing at one of the
wooden tables.
The man was about forty years of
age, corpul 2nt, with jet-black hair and
mustache, but otherwise clean shaven.
He wrote rapidly, almost furiously,
now and then pausing to read, half
aloud, the matter on the paper, OBJ
viously his own composition. AS he
did so, he smiled, well pleased, or
frowned savagely. Presently he paus-
ed and stamped with his foot on the
floor.
In answer to his summons, a young
woman of about twenty, gaudily at
|
jewelry, came up the narrow stairs.
"Ah, Adele!" cried the man, "is the
boy below?"
The woman answered with a curious
nod.
Give him these papers-let him fly
any one below?"
"No one, Monsieur Fernand."
Death of my life, Caussdiere is
late," muttered the man. Bring NE
some absinthe and packet of cigar
ettes."
The woman disappeared with the
parcel of manuscript, and returned al
most Immediately, bearing the things
ordered. She had scarcely set them
down, when foot was heard upon the
stairs, and our old acquaintance, Caus-
sidiere, elegantly attired, with fault
less gloves and boots, entered the
room.
Here you are!" cried the man. "You
come little late, mon camarade. l
should have liked you to hear the ar
ticle have just dispatched to the Bon
Citoyen."
1T will keep till tomorrow, IIuet,"
returned the other, dryly, when l shall
behold it in all the glory of large type"
Huet, as the man was named, ripped
out round oath.
1T is firebrand. bombshell, by
-" he cried. ''The dagger-thrust Of
Marat, with the epigram of Victor HUI
go. l have signed it at full length,
mon amarade-Fernand Huet, Work
man, Friend of the People,"
Caussidiere laughed and sat down.
mo man can match you, my dear
Huet, in the great war of--words."
Just so. and in the war of swords,
too, when the time comes. Nature has
given me the soul of a poet, the heart
of lion, the strength of Hercules, the
tongue of Apollo. Behold me! When
heroes are wanted, I shall be there
The two men talked for some time
on general subjects; then Huet, after
regarding his companion with a pro
longed stare, observed with a coarse
laugh:
you are swell as usual, my Caus-
sidiere. Parbleu it is easily seen that
you earn not your living, like a good
patriot, by the sweat of your brow!
Who is the victim, mon camarade.
Who bleeds?"
Il do not waste what I have" re-
turned Caussidiere, "and / love clean
linen, that is ALL
Huet snapped his fingers and laugh
ed.
do you think I am fool to swallow
that canard? No, my Caussidiere. You
have money, you have a little nest-egg
at home You have wife, brave boy;
she is English, and she is rich"
"On the contrary, she is very poor"
answered Caussidiere. "She has not a
SOU"
"Diable!"
Nevertheless, I will not disguise
from you that she has wealthy connec-
tions, who sometimes assist us in our
struggle for subsistence. But it is not
much that comes to me from that quar-
ter, l assure you. My correspondence
and my translations are our chief re-
lance"
"Then they pay you like a prince,
mon camarade!" cried Huet. "But
there, that is your affair, not mine.
You are with us, at any rate, heart and
soul?"
"Assuredly."
Sinking their voices, they continued
to converse for some time. At last
Caussidiere rose to go. After a rough
handshake from Huet, and a grufily