The Kinsley graphic. [volume] (Kinsley, Kan.) 1890-1940, 1902-11-21
On the BeaverkiII's
Banks
BY EDWARD B. CLARK.

GORGE SCHUYLER belonged to
" an old New York family. Perhaps
the name tells that, and enough said
Helen Ganzevoort also belonged to
an old New York family, and here
again the name speaks for Itself
Georges branch of the Schuyler fam.
lily was poor. Helen's branch of the
Ganzevoort family was rich.
The parents of both young people
bad been the stanchest kind of
friends since they had been old
enough to know what friendship
meant, and friends had the ancestors
been for generations back to the
time of the stump-legged Peter.
George Schuyler was five years older
than Helen Ganzevoort. There was
enough of the Dutch idea left in
George to make him dutiful son as
there was enough of the same Dutch
in Helen to make her dutiful daugh-
ter. George Schuyler had been
brought up to believe that one day
he must marry Helen Ganzevoort,
and Helen Ganzevoort had been
brought up to believe that one day
she must marry George Schuyler.
The Schuylers were not rich, as has
been said, and when George was Is,
instead of being sent to college he
was shipped west to see if he could
pick up fortune. Helen was at that
time IL years old, and she did not
feel keenly at all the parting with
her prospective husband, and it must
be confessed that George didn't shed
many tears when he said good-by to
this plain little girl with her hair
III pigtails.
George Schuyler went to San Fran
cisco, and there in the course of nine
years he did manage to pick up what
the farmer calls tidy bit of
money" George went east twice dur
ing his San Francisco stay, but both
times Helen GanzeyOort was abroad
They wrote to each other once every
three months, and while there wasn't
a line of affection in the letters on
either side, there was enough in them
to show that each felt that the old
marriage arrangement made by the
parents still stood.
George Schuyler was IS years old
His income now was large enough to
justify him in marrying, and in feel
ing that he wouldn't have to go to
. the bureau drawer every Monday
morning to find his wife's purse
George was going back to take a
leide that he hadn't seen in nine
years, and it's just barely possible
that he didn't feel overly comfortable
at the prospect. As matter of fact,
George Schuyler liked bachelorhood.
No woman ever as yet had stirred his
pulse. His gun and his rod were
more to him than all the women in
the world. But George had been get
ting letters from his aged parents,
who said that it was time he came
cast and went to wooing in earnest
He wrote that he would start in a
week, but that on his way he was to
stop for a few days. fishing with an
old friend on the Beaverkill, that ideal
trout stream which tumbles down the
southern slope of the Catslills on its
way to the Delaware.
George Schuyler took his fly book
and his split bamboo rod on the first
morning after, his arrival at his
friends wilderness lodge and started
cut to whip the stream for speckled
beauties. He was in wading boots
hip high and down the stream he
went, dropping his ''coachman" lure
en- the surface of every pool where
il looked as though trout might
lurk.
Luck was only fair and the sun was
getting high. Trout don't like the
glare of the midday sun and they
keep away from the surface, no mat
ter how tempting the morsel offered
for consumption. George Schuyler
was thinking about reeling in and go-
ing back to the lodge. when suddenly
at place where the Beaverkill
broadened he saw country girl, in
q calico dress and sunbonnet, sitting
at the waters edge She was listen
ing to the song of q brown thrasher
that, fitting ON a low tree top. was
pouring forth his melody for the
benefit of his sunbonneted friend
Gec-ge Schuyler stopped in mid