The Denison review. [volume] (Denison, Iowa) 1867-current, 1899-01-03
Fen.on nodden YEARLY.

Iha doesn't mind ma smoaking, do
ye?" said the other, pulling out Cigar
of doubtful aspect.
"Not at ALL" said Fenton, hoping
this would keep his companion quiet.
Maybe you'd like smoak yersen. .
said the Yorkshireman, who was ganer-
ously disposed.
Thanks, no,'' said Fenton. "1'na
not much of a smoker.'
"That's rect. A young Teller should
reserve his strength SO as he can enjoy
his smoak when his trouble comes. -
And pleased with this philosophic senti-
ment the old fellow pulled away at his
rank cigar.
There was pause of few minutes,
and Fenton hoped his companion was
now fully engrossed with his cigar and
his troubles. But he was mistaken. The
hearty voice went on:
eyes, I've been up to Lunnon on biz
ness-very pertikeler bizness. Ah'll tell
ye all about it, as ye seem interested. /"
And he did tell, and his voice buzzed
in Fenton's ear in harmony with the
rafting of the wheels and the roar of
the train.
On, on the voice went, with never
ending energy, but Fenton's thoughts
were elsewhere. He was wet through to
the skin, he was shivering with cold,
he was utterly miserable both in mind
and body. Was there in all London that
night more wretched man than he!
The thought was simply overwhelming
that he, George Fenton, was fugitive
that he would be wanted by the po-
lice on the morrow for the murder of a
woman. A cold sweat stood upon his
brow and an involuntary groan broke
from his lips.
Even the self absorbed Yorkshireman
noticed his companions distress and
broke off his epic in compassion.
"Young feller," said he solemnly,
''ye're wet through to the skin.''
Fenton did not deny it.
"Sse 'ere,' said the other, getting
mp and inspecting his own wraps.
Just ye put on this ERE waterproof
It'll keep ye warm ovverneet. It's
downright daft of ye travelling in nowt
but gimcracks like them, as wouldn' {
turn summer shower. /"
Fenton thanked him warmly and was
glad enough to don the proffered arti-
Gle. He buried his chin deep in the ca
pacious collar and pretended to sleep.
The cigar had now gone out, and the
smoker was yawning. In another ten
minutes resounding SHORES proclaimed
his reception in the arms of Morpheus.
In vain did Fenton try to follow his
companion into oblivion. Sleep refused
to come. For a few minutes he fell
into fitful slumber, but his brain re-
fused to rest. Again he stood over the
dead body of the woman he loved; again
he saw her pale, drawn face and the
horrible dagger in her heart; again
Brett confronted him, and once more he
was chased down the streets by howl
ing crowd. Quick down there, or he
would be caughtl Faster! Faster! o
God, they are gaining on him! And
with a cry of terror he awoke, trem-
bling from head to fsot.
Thank heaven, it was only horrible
dream! He was safe as yet.
<aAu cO DubU A1SIIG WOIO
on. 1t was not till the gray morning
came in through the carriage windows
that the thought flashed across him for
the first time, "Why am I running
away?"
Brett alone had seen him, and he
knew he was safe with Brett. No, Dun
can would not betray him. Had he
been recognized in the chase that fol
lowed? Hardly likely. Then he was
safe. Why run away? If ghost of a
suspicion lodged against him, he was
only accentuating it by absenting him
self. He ought never to have left town.
De We're Gardens was the safest place
for him. What fool he had been to
rush madly away in this absurd fash
ion! But even now was it too late to
return? There were quick trains up
from Manchester. He could be back by
noon, and it would be easy to account
for his absence-such occurrences were
not infrequent. At Manchester, at any
rate, he could buy an early paper and
be guided by the report of the murder,
which would by this time be telegraph
ed to every quarter of the globe.
These thoughts brought him some
comfort, and. as last, when the sky was
turning to crimson, George Fenton
sank into deep sleep.
CHOW, lad, here we be at Manches.
ter. Up ye get"
Fenton rubbed his eyes and stared
round him dazedly and struggled to
his feot.
"Thank you very much for your
macintosh, he said to the Yorkshire
man. 81 don't know what I should
have done without it. -
He babe the kind fellow goodby and
struggled into his soddened overcoat
and now sailed forth into the streets
of Cottonopolis. 1t was now past 6
O'Clock, and he soon got hold of news
paper, which he opened with palpitat-
ing heart.
"Great heavens!" he cried as his
eye found the column he wanted. There,
in large capitals, stared him in the
face:
HORRIBLE MURDER IN MAYFAIR.
A or