The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1900-12-15

Il did" he acknowledged detiantly.
"but do you suppose l thought once OF
you?" The accent on that you" came
near bringing the tears. II forgot you
were Il penny-a-liner; that you were sit
ting there taking the thing down. con-
graduating yourself that you were to get
so much word for it,"
"a penny-a-lincr!' $50 much a word.'
A penny-a-liner doesn't get so much
word even.
'Doddy," l said presently, quite calmly,
too, considering everything, Il didn't get
n cent for that anccdote, not Il red cent.
1t was a private letter not intended for
publication. Won't you believe that?"
"You can't believe anything these peo-
pie who write say" he declared. They
mix their imagination up SO with facts
that they get so they can't tell the truth.
You know it. And now see what you
have done. You have made me notori-
Gus. Do you suppose | want cheap news
paper notoricty like that? | hate it.
hate it,
| was stricken To the dust-mutc. In
storm of anger he flung himself out of
the room and slammed thc door.
After that he sat dumb and unlUr@iv-
ing at one end of the long table, and |
sat silently at the other II was imrOs-
sibc to catch his eye. He refused by so
much as look to reveal his cogni2ancc
Of my existence.
Then Christmas day approached. We
had arranged for the day, Doddy and |.
We had prepared TO ward off homcsick-
ness, to Il certain extent ut least. lie
was TO make me II present, and | was to
make him one.
"Therc is little bust of Napoleon in
shop down in the Rue st. Honorc that
want" | told him. You get it for
me, and l will buy you Il cigarette case
in the same shop. They cost about the
same money. Is it a go?"
Its n CO." answered he, and we shook
hands on it.
As a matter of fact, l had already pur-
chased the cigarette case. 1t was stow
ed away in the bottom of my armore
drawer for safe keeping. Now and again
l took it out and looked ut it, thinking
how proud the boy would be to offer his
cigarettes in that pretty new case in the
place of his old one, which was finger
m; rked and worn at the edges.
And now it was all over. Perhaps he
| would scorn to take it from me. Il penny
a-lncr, scribbcr who mixed up her
| Imagination with facts in so alarming
| a manner that she had at last arrived ut
| a stage wherein she could no longer
| speak the truth.
The morning arrived. and, as I say, il
not only ruincd. but it poured. | Deposit
| ed franc or two in the hand of B"thc.
who brought me my chocolate. to remind
myself that it was Christmas day, and &C.
| I l.. I 80. al
keep from thinking what Il royal good
| time they were all having ut home. Then
| | gave few francs to Florence of tn"
| velvet foot and to Aimc, the cook, after
which | went out into the rain to the
| Care st. LaZare, where | bought Il great
| bunch of French roses for madCmOiScllc.
| presented them to her, received her
| thanks and compliments, profuscy cX-
| pressed in English so fractured as TO be
| scarcely recognizable. and, retiring to my
room, worked all day long ut that penny
n-liner business for which | was so look.
| ed down upon by the boy from Milwau-
| kcc, trying to pretend that it was only
| an ordinary every day and not Christmas
ut all.
From my window l could see the rain
! descending diSmally into the court, the
| palms huddled in one corner and the big
| drcnchcd bronze girl, whose upifted
arms. holding up the lamp, gave me al
times II feeling of such intense WEAKNESS.
| One bright spot alone CLEANED through
| the window IF the Concicrgc'S room,
| which was opposite mine, two stories be-
| low. 1t was his fire over which he bent,
} reading all the letters before he sent
! them up to the rooms.
The day passed somehow, and it was
! evening. The boy had not come to din
| ncr | sat waiting for him in my room.
| waited long time. l had his cigarette
| case in my hand ready, for after Christ
mas day Of such loneliness | was deter
mined, if possible, to make friends with
| him again. | was afraid of going to
sleep and dreaming the day all over again
| otherwise.
At last | heard his latchlicy in the
| door and his footStop in the hall. wait
| Cd until he should have had time TO light
! his candle: then. softly opening my door,
! | went out and halted, looking ut him.
He was standing by the heavy mahog.
any table upon which tlckcrcd his candle
| | haven't much pride when it comes to 4
| question of happiness or unhappincSs. IN
Il Lowry manner ! approached him. IL,
started ut seeing me- but glanced up with
ont smile. His face in the light of ihp
candle hurt my heart.
"Won't you forgive me, DoddyE | i'm.
| plorcd. 81 will never do it again-ncv.
or! | promise you"
closed my fingers over tine cigarette
case. | was afraid to civ" it to him just
| yet afraid he might fling it back at M
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