The Beaver herald. [volume] (Beaver, O.T. [Okla.]) 1895-1923, 1901-08-08
RUSH TRAVERS' CAPRICE.
BY BELL BLOSSOM.
uTHIRTY years OF age, posscssor
NEUTRALITY-SUSPICIOUS.,

uTHIRTY years OF age, posscssor
i of q handsome fortune and
handsome face, and already become
cynical! Seriously, Rush, ! would adj
wise you to become hermit. l think
n few months SO spent would raise
you to the appreciation Of your bless
ings. Take IL into consideration, old
fellow. Au revoir!"
And Harry Withcrs, touching his
hat, hurried Oft at the corner of the
street the two friends had APP
preached together.
Rush Travers walked on alone. The
words to which he had just listened
had been lightly, jestingly spoken;
but somehow they had hurt. Was
IL true that he was ungrateful? Did
the heart never cry out, in its empti-
ness. even when filed with the favor Of
fortune, the good will of men, the
caressing smiles of women? Did not
the two latter hang upon the former?
What man, what woman cared for
the man and not the outward sur
roundings which he owed to chance?
The one true heart on which he
might have leaned was stilled for
ever.
Ten years before. In the first flush
of his young manhood, he had lost
his mother. There now remained
to him but u cherished, idolizcd MEM
ory. His fnther had died in his in
fancy. lie had neither brother nor
sister.
At 25 he had fallen in love with q
woman whose falscness he had dis
covered in time to save the wreck OF
his life, though scarcely of his happi-
ness.
lie stood alone in the world-nlonc
on his richly-freightcd bark. Could
all It's treasures atone for the rcnliz-
ing sense of dcsolation the world i'm
parted.
"Will you buy my violets, please,
sir? Only dime, sir.'
IL was sweet. pitiful. pleading
voice-a sweet, little, pitilul face.
looking at him from beneath the brim
Of tattered hat. thrust on TO a
mass of bright chestnut curls.
Children were Rush Travers' weak
ness. At any time he could take into
his arms crying child and hush its
sorrow.
lie thrust his hand into his pocket
and drew therefrom "a piece of sill
yer, which he placed in the tiny, out
stretched palm; then. from very idle
ness. he walked on, questioning the
little girl, who ran beside him.
Poor little waif. How singularly
pretty she Isl" he thought.
"Wbat Is your name?" he asked.
"Pansy, SIR" she answered. "Mam-
ma used tn say II was the color OF
my eyes"
He looked down with u smile in the
purple depths, half-shaded by the
long iashcs. upraised from the brown
cheeks.
''Where * your mothcr?" he asked.
''In Heaven. sir"
"hnd your father"
'Iic Is dead, too"
"With whom do you livc?"
with u woman who is kind to me,
and whom ] pay by selling my flowers.
] am all alone In the world!"
"Alone In the world! Who could
realize as he the pathetic cloqucnce
held In the simple avowal? But II
10 him the word meant 40 much-to
him In the pride and strength of man
hood. and position, and wealth-what
new meaning did Il gather when IL
included dependence, and poverty,
and womanhood?
A sudden thought came to him. II
wns almost an inspiration. lie looked
once more, earnestly. searchingly,
into the little, upturned face.
The child was beautiful: the eyes
were large and truthful; the mouth
showed character, which might be
nodded for good or evil.
''Pnnsy," he said, scarcely conscious
of his own intention until the words
had escaped him, "you say that you
are alone In the world. So am I.
Suppose I make you my little girl?
Do you think that you would be hap
picr?"
"Do You mean that I am TO live
with you. and bring you the money
for my flowers? oh, / should like
that very, very much"
II mean that you should live with
me, yes; but you will not sell flowers
then, though you shall have all that
you want"
The child looked up In wondering
amazcment. She could not compre-
hend the words. but Rush Travers
Ind not uttered them lightly.
Whit he should make OF the little
waits future he had not determined.
II should greatly depend upon her
self; but while he lived she should
never again be friendlcss.
II was an easy matter to gain the
consent OF the woman with whom
she lodged. The sum he put into her
hands would more than requite her
for any loss she might suffer through
Psnsy's flower-sclIlng. From the
woman. too. he learned something
more about the child's history. Her
parents were artists; the mother had
eked out living by painting flower
pictures on wood. after her hyh-
henA's esrly death, which had bc-
|ousssA bsfors Psaaz's bistk g1sn.