The Saint Paul globe. (St. Paul, Minn.) 1896-1905, 1900-11-16
ONLY A SKIRMISH,

per, as he had done; 1t would be better
in the morning than with the lonliness
of night to follow the blow-all alone at
night in those dingy lodgings. Or some
one might have seen the telegram and
might blurt out the name he had read at
any moment during dinner; then there
would be a scene in which he, Dick Tenn
plar, would be a helpless spectator. Some
day she might remember how cheerfully
she had spent the evening laughing and
chatting when her husband lay dead, and
even find out that he knew all the time.
Could he tell her quietly afterward? He
could, of course, drive home with her;
probably she would expect him to do So
Should he tell Mrs. Venneker and ask her
to break the news? Some people, he
knew, thought that bad news came moro
gently dribbled out, perhaps with an ac-
compartment of phrases importing relig-
fous consolation. He thought of how he
might best put it, and shivered. His
train of thought was interrupted by Mrs
O'Brien speaking to him, eating a late
strawberry by tiny mouthfuls as she did
SO. He hoped his face would show moth
ing for the present
do you think me horribly frivolous
and heartless, dining out and enjoying
myself? Do you think I ought to be
glum, lil1e-like you?" she asked, with
q sudden grave look in her eyes. eff
once gave way to all I feel at times
should go mad. The worst, battles were
fought before he got out there, and 1
feel-I know-that he must come through
all right now. You think the show is
practically over, don't you? Every one
says So"
She laid her hand on his, or it touched
his, perhaps unintentionally, and her face
was for moment so drawn and earnest
that he felt no doubt of the reality of her
feeling, looking into her eyes and seeing
for an instant below the surface. Then
the surface closed over again and rip
pied, and, before he could answer, Mrs
VenneIler had signalled and the ladies
were filing out of the room.
There was no doubt Of the feeling-no
doubt of the weight Of the blow that was
going to fall. Still, the touch of her hand
on his had set his pulses throbbing and
he felt that there was a future to think
of as well as a present.
Speaking of the matter afterward, Mr..
Venneker told his wife that he noticed at
the time that Templar punished the port
in silence, and that, finding he could not
draw him into the conversation of the
other men, he let him alone. The latter
part of this was true, for Dick hardly
answered coherently when he was spoken
to. With regard to the port, he drank
three sips, and left the rest standing in
his glass when he rose with the others to
join the ladies. BY that time he had
made up his mind that it was of no use
to say anything to Mr.. Venneker When
they got upstairs. Mrs. O'Brien was sing
ing. 1t was an Irish song, something with
Pat me darlin'," at intervals, and the
usual "acushlas" and ''asthores." 1t had
not been in her repertory In the old days
and he heard her say that her husband
had taught it to her, when she had fin
ished, and been warmly congratulated on
her performance. But, as she was in the
back drawing room, by the piano, with
several ladies around her, he did not go
near her.
What a row those chaps make! You
can hear them three streets off! said
another man to him, and they stepped
together onto the balcony outside the
drawing room window. Dick assented,
and suggested shutting the window; 1t
was the front drawing room, that faced
the roadway, and some one else was sit
ting down to the piano, but still she
might well hear.
Horrible boo-boo! Bloo-hoo slorter
payperr!" they came along, working oppo-
site sides of the street land believing an
tiphorally, two ruttiars with bundles OF
evening newspapers and voices like fog
horns. A servant bought a paper from
other beloved; he had enough definite
news in his bill to be quite articulate as
to the slaughter.
"By George We'll have one! said Mr.
Venneker, in the room behind them
Dick tried to stop him, but was too late
He had run down stairs to buy one him
self, instead of ringing the bell and send
ing out.
Mrs. O'Brien was coming forward from
[1,o Ira IL, -4o ~ -,
clear space. What must happen flash
ed through Dicks brain; he saw Mrs
Venneker too much surrounded for him
TO get near and warn her and get her
to help. Mr.. Venneker was on the
stairs; he would see it first, stop, and
try to hide the newspaper; then she
would snatch it from him, and then
he could see her with his minds eye at
full length in her wedding dress on the
parquet floor. He moved forward to
be near her as Mr.. Venneker came into
the room with the newspaper in his
hand, and stood glancing through it for
the latest news. Dick clenched his
teeth, looked and remained silent. Mr.
Venneker was looking at one spot i'll
the paper. He was a red-faced man,
and could not be expected 10 change
color. 1t was coming.
There is no news" said Il clear,
VOICE.. II was MIS-. ~ BT1Cn,
looking over her shoulder at her host,
as she moved toward his wife. holding
out her hand to say good night IT
came here straight from the war office.
A cousin of my husband is killed that
is alI-Gerald O'Brien.
II wondered whether he was a rela-
tion,' said Mr.. Venneker, his voice
shaking.
Dick was digging his nails into the
palms of his hands and his teeth into
his lips in the effort to hold himself
together.
my husband is Capt George O'Brien,
in the Irish rifles said Mrs. O'Brien in
explanation to a lady near her Stupid
people used to mix Gerald up with him
because of the initials. The cousins
names were Gerald Costigan, I think,
and, of course, the regiments are quite
different. The Rifles weren't In that
show at all--it was only skirmish; and
Pat didn't like Gerald much, I know. -
At all events, Gerald Costigan O'Brien's
fate did not affect his Cousins wife.
There was less of Indifference IL. her
tone as she exclaimed catching sight of
Dicks face, "Mr. Templar is anything
the matter? Are you ill?''
But Dick could stand it no longer He
is a shy, sensitive man-too much so to
give the true explanation to ary one.
A1uC11 less " every OIl0J anu d Iilt+U WHO
goes into Mysteries and is helped from a
crowded drawing room, alternately
laughing and crying on his hosts Shout
der, must explain to a good many if
he wants to re-establish his reputation.
Dick never tried, and the theory of the
port at dessert is accepted now, even by
Mrs. O'Brien.
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