Ottumwa semi-weekly courier. [volume] (Ottumwa, Iowa) 1899-1903, 1900-03-08
ther advice on all matters of impor-

ther advice on all matters of impor-
lance.
Tom Broxton was matter of impor-
lance, one which came up with increas-
ing frequency and growing importuni-
ty as his term at college rounded to its
end.
On the subject Of what was or what
was not best for Tom the small mont
tor assumed large airs Of gravity and
decorum which tempted one to smile
into her dimpled face. Not that she
would have countenanced such levity
for an instant. She took herself in her
relation as semiguardian to the last of
the Broxtons quite seriously. Ever
since that dismal day on which they
had laid the dear colonel to rest under
the weeping willows of the Vaudeville
churchyard and brought Tom to stay
temporarily at the Matthews cottage
while arrangements for his future,
were perfecting she had come to look
upon him as in some sense her personal
charge.
That had been four years ago. The
years have healing properties for the
young which they lose in later years.
A correspondence had been one Of the
inevitable consequences of Ollie's self
elected guardianship and Toms crav-
ing for friendship.
His II months Of seniority, which
counted for little on the calendar, We're
entirely reversed in their social rela-
tons. In their letters he figured as
quite IL years her junior. She never
forgot his birthday. 1t was always re-
membered by a gift chosen with a
view to mans ever recurring demand
for neckties, gloves or the like and al
ways sent accompanied by neat lit
tie homily on the approaching years of
responsibility, prettily indited on her
best society stationery.
Fresh from the perusal of an ELUSIVE
letter of thanks for the latest donation
of gloves and advice, Olivia sagely
wrinkled her brows and looked across
the breakfast table at her father.
"Just to think, papa, the dear boy 10
Is years old! suppose he will be put.
ling oh 14A SlC uIiS VI d SIOWu udIl
when he gets back. I can hear the
beating Of restless wings in each letter
more distinctly. That is as it should
be. If were man, know I should
strain at the leash violently long before
the college doors closed upon me-"
Her metaphors were somewhat
mixed, but as she was preparing her
fathers second cup of coffee with Just
SO much sugar plus so much cream
metaphor had to look out for itself.
The lawyer, deep in his own mail
matter, glanced up quickly, showing Il
dark, unsmiling face.4
who is straining at the leash, my
dear?"
ooh, that was just a figure of speech!
1 was talking about Tom. I've got an
absurdly grateful letter from him,
thanking me for his gloves If I had
sent shoestring, he would have wax
ed just as eloquent over it. Tom is n
wee bit sophomore, l must admit, but
time will tone all that down."
She was conscious of very abstract
ed auditor.
Her fathers head had been lifted
just so long as his hand had been ex.
tended for the cup Of Coffee He was
once more porting over his mornings
mail with knitted brows. Her maltese
cat, always discreetly observant of the
progress of the meal, gently reminded
her by a velvet paved caress that he
was waiting to be served. Her canary
bird, swinging in its gilded cage in the
sunny bow window, shrilly monopo-
LIKED the realm of sound.
Her fathers absorption in letters
which properly belonged to his office
work was an infringement of her most
cherished household regulation. She in
terfered despotically.
Papa, you know regard the break.
fast hour as my exclusive property
You are breaking my rules
The dark face opposite her was lift
ed. The light Of mighty love illumin-
ed it's gloomy eyes. Lawyer Matthews
pushed his letters from him in heap
and smiled.
you are right, my queen Of hearts,
as you always are. 1 beg your pardon
for my rude inattention. am all yours.
You We're saying
Nothing very profound" She smiled
with restored good humor. .'Is have
been wondering what we are going to
do with Tom Broxton when he comes
back to Vaudeville for good. He can't
live alone in that great barn of a
house. He would meet a ghost at
every turn. And he could not live here
with us. Every old womans tongue
in Vaudeville would chorus 'improp-'
err What on earth can we do with
the poor boy?"
Twice during her remarks her IA
Their had taken off his glasses, wiped
them abstractedly and replaced them
On his nose with nervous energy. In
stead of the direct answer her direct
question invited, he looked straight
over her head through the vine clothed
bow window, browning incidentally at
the shrilling canary.
rs there no way of silencing that
noise?'
Dicks yodeling? Certainly. 1 did