The Washburn times. [volume] (Washburn, Wis.) 1896-1976, 1900-12-05


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he caught at the idea like drowning
man at life-bet.
'Why are all Irishmen christened Pat
rick?' he asked, going at the point in a
roundabout way instinctively
But they aren'tr' she exclaimed. ''My
husbands name is George. He was
christened George Carruthers. only Pat
suits him so much better. You will say
so when you see him.
Dick could see him in his minds eye.
with a couple of soldiers heaping dry
sand over him in shallow grave. and Il
firing party returning to camp after
their last duty. He even wondered
vaguely whether they marched back
with arms reversed, and what arms re-
verscd might precisely mean. He had
read of soldiers funerals in newspapers.
You really ought to see him." she
went on. and. having once got upon the
topic, talked of the husband whom she
had married six months before for the
rest of the dinner time. telling her host
ess an anecdOte of him across the man
who sat between them. Her doing so
gave Dick an opportunity to think, and
possible solutions of the question what
was to happen chased one another
new till the morning, reading it all by
herself in her lodgings; he had called on
her there, and she had told him how
lonely and forlorn she felt without
Pat" The Vennekers We're almost the
only peop;e she knew in London. and
they were only friends whom she had
known. as girls know married people in
London. for a year or two before her
engagement Again, she might read the
news in an evening paper, as he had
done it would be better III the morning
than with the loneliness Of night to fol-
low 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 Templar. would
be a helpless spectator. Some day she
might remember how cheerfuily she had
spent the evening, laughing and chatting
when her husband lay dead, and even
find out that he knew all the time. Could
could. of course. drive home with her;
proba bly, 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 more
gentle dribbled out. perhaps with an ac-
ligious 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 late
strawberry bv tiny mouthfuls as she dld
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 | ought to be
glum, like-like your she asked with a
sudden grave look in her eyes. IF
once gave way to all l feel at times
should go mad. The worst battles were
fought before he got out there, and | feel
i EnOW-thaf n through
right now. You think the show is prac-
tically over, don't you? Everyone says
So
She laid her hand on his, or it touched
his, perhaps unintentionaliy,- and her
face was for a moment so drawn and
earnest that he felt no doubt of the real
ity of her feeling, looking into her eyes
and seeing for an instant below the sur
face. Then the surface closed over
again and rippled, and, before he could
answer, Mrs. Venneker had signaled 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 we'll as Il present.
Speaking CT 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 stand
ing 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
we TY.iC
thing with pat, me darlin'," at inter
walls. and the. usual ''acushlas" and
"asthores." 1t had not been in her roper
tory in the old days, and he heard her
say that her husband had taught it to
her, when she had finished. and been
warmly congratulated on her perform
:ance. But. as she was in the back draw
ing room. by the piano, with several la
dies around her, he did not go near her.
What row those chaps make! You
can hear them three streets off, said
another man to. him. and they stepped
drawing room window. Dick assented.
and suggested shutting the window; it
was the front drawing ROOM that faced
the roadway, and someone else was sit
ting down to the piano, but still she might
we'll hear.
Horrible boo-hoo. Boo-hoo slorter
payperr." they came along working OPP
posite sides of the street, and believing
antiphonally, two rutiians with bundles
of evening newspapers and voices like
foghorns. A servant bought a paper
from one of them three doors off. while
the other beloved; he had enough definite
news in his bill to be quite articulate as
to the slaughter. un
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 downstairs to buy one himself,
instead of ringing the bell and sending
out.
Mrs. O'Brien was coming forward from
the back drawing room, standing in 4