The L'Anse sentinel. (L'Anse, L.S., Mich.) 18??-current, 1899-12-23
A PRISONER OF WAR.

IN is the third time il has happened
within the half year. I'll go there my
self and get the money, or III know the
reason why"
Matthew Deane was in particularly
bad humor this raw December morning.
Everything had gone wrong. Stocks
had fallen when they ought to have ris-
en-his clerk had tipped over an ink
stand on his special and peculiar heap
OF paper-the fire obstinately refused
to burn in the grate-in short. nothing
went right and Mr.. Deane was conse-
quently and correspondingly cross.
"Jenkns!"
"Yes, sir
'.Go 10 Widow Clarkson's and tell her
/ shall be there in half an hour, and ex-
pect confidently-mind, Jenkins-con-
fidently to receive that rent money. Or
),else shall feel myself obliged to re-
sort to extreme measures. You under
stand, Jenkins?"
Certainly, SIR"
'Then don't stand there starin' like
an idiot" snarled Mr.. Deane, in sud-
den burst of irritation, and Jenkins dis
appeared like a shot.
Just half an hour afterward Mat
thew Deane brushed the brown hair just
sprinkled with gray from his square yet
not unkindly brow. Putting on his fur
lined overcoat he walked north into the
chilly winter air fully determined, fig
uratively. to annihiiate the defaulting
Widow Garrison.
1t was dwarfish little red brick
house which appeared originally TO
have aspired to two-storyhood lot, but
cramped by circumstances had settled
down into story and a half, but the
windows shone like Brazilian pebbles.
and the doorsteps were worn by much
securing. Neither of these circum-
stances, however, did Mr.. Deane remark
as he pulled the glittering brass door
knob and strobe into Mrs. Ciarkson's
neat parlor.
There was small fire-very small, as
if every lump of anthracite was boarded
in the stove, and at table with writing
implements before her sat young lady
whom Mr.. Deane at once recognized as
Mrs Clarkson's niece, Miss Olive Mellen.
She was not disagreeable to look upon,
though you would never have thought
ofclassing her among the beauties, with
shining, black hair, blue, long-lashed
eyes, and a very pretty mouth, hiding
teeth like rice kernels, so white were
they.
Miss Mellen rose with a polite nod,
which was grimly reciprocated by Mr..
Deane.
81 have called to see your aunt, Miss
Mellen."
~ know it, sir, but as am aware of
her timid temperament, sent her
away. / prefer to deal with you my
self"
Mr.. Deane started-the cool audacity
of this damsel in gray, with scarlet rib
bons in her hair, rather astonished him.
81 suppose the money is ready?'
mo, sir, il is not"
"Then, Miss Olive, pardon me, must
: speak plainly, l Smithsonian officer here
this afternoon to put a valuation on the
furniture, and" =
you will do nothing the kind. sir"
Olives cheek had REDEEMED and her
eyes flashed portentiously. Mr. Deane
turned toward the door, but ere he
knew what she was doing Olive had
walked quietly across the room, locked
the door and taken out the key--then
she resumed her seat.
''What does this mean?" CALCULATED
the astonished prisoner of war"
1T means, sir that you will now be
obliged to reconsider the question" said
Olive.
"Obliged?"
"Yes--you will hardly jump out of the
window, and there is no other method
of egress unless you choose to go up
the chimney. Now, then, Mr.. Deane, will
you tell me II you--a Christian man in
the nineteenth century-intend to sell
poor widows furniture because she Is
not able to pay your rent? Listen, sir!"
Mr.. Deane had opened his mouth to
remonstrate, but Olive enforced her
words with very emphatic little stamp
of the foot, and he was, as il were,
~ stricken dumb.
you are what the world calls a rich
man, Mr.. Deane. You own rows of
houses, piles of bank stock, railroad
shares, bonds and mortgages-who
knows what? My aunt has no;hing-l