Chicago eagle. [volume] (Chicago, Ill.) 1889-19??, 1901-05-04
CHAPTER XVIII,

Johns dislike for the new program
grew during the night, SO that by the
time morning came, had Hctty given
him the slightest encouragement, he
would have rcvolted against Uncle Da-
vid's authority and become married
man before breakfast. But Mary Elder.
who really had much confidence In Tn.
Gle Duvid's judgment and took care he
should observe she had, shared the girls
bed and was successful In deepening the
impression already made upon her In
favor of n postponement Of the marriage.
1T amt the way l want II, any more
than It's the way you want 1t, John"
she said, In consultation with her lover,
but ] guess it's for the best. We are
young and can afford to wait q little
while, anyway"
"Thcre's always risk in waiting"
growled John.
mot for us. All the horses amt 60.
ing to die nor the roads to be built up.
And when say I'll wait for you. John.
| mean 1t. l don't care what mother or
anybody else says. There'll DO nobody
for me but you, John, II have to wait
for you until ltaccoon Creek runs across
the top Of the Devils Backbone"
''l'll make heap OF excitement In
Washington County before Ill stand any
such waiting rs that" answered John,
grimly.
But the matter was settled for the
time being. and, recognizing that fact,
he accepted 1t as philosophically as he
could, cven-through remnant Of pique
assuming Il cheerfulness that he was
far from feeling, rs he saw Hctty car
ried away by Uncle David and Mary.
For few days, the country lad, thus
left to himself among the ashes of his
hopes, felt miserably lonely and could
not shake off an impression that the part
he had played was not one to be proud
of. To be sure. the landlord said he had
done quite rightly, but there was q twin.
kle in the old fellows eyes and Turk
ing smile on his fat lips that said he
would not have acted 50. And he i'm
agined that Mistress Betsy, too, though
she went so far rs to pronounce his con
duct noble" and prudent" wore n
smile of contemptuous pity most exas.
pcratng to him. lie felt that he could
not stand well In his own estimation; for
the plain, unvarnished fact Of the case
was that, after carrying off triumphantly
the girl he loved and who loved him, he
had permitted himself to be talked out
of his prize. Decidedly, he said to him
self, he deserved to be jcered and laugh.
ed ut, but he would break the nose Of
the first man who gave him that desert.
The atmosphere of the Farmers Inn be-
came uncomfortable to him. and he hunted
up q lodging elsewhere, beyond the prob
| ability of encounter with any who knew
him.
He found this secluded haven In Tenn
| peranceville, the then charming little sub
urb covering the sidehill and extending
down into the valley south of Sawmill
Run, below South Pittsburg. Most Of
| that territory, now covered by great,
grimy, roaring factories, mills and crowd
| ed tenements, was then dotted over with
| pretty cottages and white frame build.
ings. two or three stories high, embow-
cred amid trees and vines and surround
| ed by gardens, glorious in the summer
time with their brilliant and fragrant
wealth of flowers. The people of Tenn
perancevillc were rich only in health and
children, for it was luboring popula-
| tom but the conditions of labor, Infinite
~ better then than they have since be-
come, did not involve privation and
squalor as inevitable concomitants. Hap
ply content was visible everywhere, in the
tasteful, comfortable homes; the stall
wart, independent looking men upon the
streets; the plump, good-looking matrons
and the chubby little folks who Fairly
swarmed in the place. John felt better
when he had found domicile over there,
among entire strangers. At least, the
Monongahela river no longer rolled be-
tween him and Hetty; he was ON the
road that led to home and her.
| Go be cOntinued.)