The Saint Paul globe. (St. Paul, Minn.) 1896-1905, 1902-03-16

Spirit of Fog is lowering in the air and
laughing at the apprehension caused by
his delay to come down and blot every
thing out into one comprehensive blur.
Indoors nervous people fddled with Their
gas burners and made excuses to re-
main indoors Outside everyone, from
the crossing sweeper blowing on his
fingers, to the huddled-up lady in her
fUr-lined brougham, looked resigned to
misery. The hoofs of the cabhorses
had churned the wood pavement into
mud and the sidewalks were dank and
slippery. This was a first prize speci-
men of our best Of climates, 'matchless
for the complexion" the sort of day by
which foreigners judge ''pertide Albion,
under the sickly light of a gas lamp, with
the obscurity of thirgs without Jogging
their judgment
Such a foreigner took bus at Oxford
Circus, signalling to the conductor with
an l.-rolled umbrella, whilst he picked
his way with deliberate dignity over the
mud. Circumstances spoke in his clothes
and shabby HOmburg hat, but heredity
in his manner, slow with an inheritance
Of generations from those who Wee ac-
CUstomed to be waited for and waited on.
AS he stood on the step of the bus, it
moved on with a jerk, and young
woman running up breathlessly, caught
at the handrail and, pulled out of equi-
curbstone. The foreigners hand was in
stantly at her service; no kings was ever
extended to a curtseying debutante with
greater grace, as he half lifted, half
dragged her into safety. In painting con-
fusion she thanked him, and sat down
in the first seat by the door with more
suddenness than elegance.
She was pretty little thing, not very
addressed and with a certain surface
refinement such as is often seen in very
young girls of every class before
years and knowledge have rubbed
off the bloom; her face, with
the wide eyes of a simple-heart-
ed child, was flushed and her hair
was prettily dishevelled under her taw
dry hat. On her arm she carried n
dilapidateO little tag, and her shoes and
gloves showed signs of hard wear, but
she was withal neat and fresh and
brought with ner a strange atmosphere
of sweetness.
They two were alone in the bus The
foreigner, with deliberation, put a large
roll Of music tied UP with blue ribbon
on the seat opposite, sat down beslue it,
as if it were a cherished infant in
cradle, and with the calm of absolute I'M
consciousness, began to talk
Her flush deepened a little at his first
words, but only with the natural timidity
of child. The foreign timbre of his
voice, the unfamiliar periods, the grand
air, treasured her that he was erring
unwittingiy against the customs in when
she had been brought up, and discarding
shyness, she answered platitudes i'll the
spirit in which they we're meant
But l don't think London is so very
bad after all she remarked, when, after
eXhausting the weather, he began on the
diauibe of the alien against the world 8
metropolis. Perhaps it isn't very beauti-
ful especially today, but still"
Beautiful? London beautiful? Oh no,
dieu de dieu! Have You seen Paris
mo, never"
'Or the understanding trees of Berlin,
or the wide streets of Vienna, or the
ghosts that stalk by daylight through
Rome? Mademoiselle. [ tell you it Is the
scent the space, the sentiment, that
make the beauty of cities"
Yet historical things. she said vague
ly, have taken place in London as weH
as in Rome, and 1 daresay people can
feel sentiment even when they don't look
like it."
But of what good is that if they DO
not breathe it. How benefits it we others
that pass by? You, mademoiselle, have
nature of sentiment
"Oh, no. l don't think so,' she dis
claimed. 1T isn't very nice to De 5enti-
mental" she added the sleeping Puritan
in her nature lifting its head.
1T is the sauce of that bad dish we
call life, the color without which the
world would only be a photograph, the
setting of the song that angels sing he
returned.
She shook her head.
1T does not help one to earn ones
bread she said with a dreary little
laugh
All, pardon me! you speak to a rru-
sician,' with hand on the ribbon-tied
roll and a musician must keep his heart
young with the whispers of Paradise
You, mademoiselle, do not know muslc?'
I used to play the piano at home in
the country" she admitted.
And that was joy?'
1T was useful" she said, with another
little laugh, for I am now a typewriter -
At this point the bus stopped and he
arose.
Il descend here" he remarked, 'and
mademoiselle?"
"Oh, no, I live much further: it is only
my offices that are at the west end
1T is my academy that is in the west
he said, and raised his hat as he stepped
off. still stately, on to the curbstone
What a funny man." she exclaimed
half aloud, and forgot him.
A Sunday and several week DAYS pass
ed, and then fate brought them together
again. Her expression on seeing him was
one of evident and slightly unfattering
surprise; his, however, that of one con-
fronting the expected
Every day 1 thought I might see YOU
once again in this omnibus he remark
ed.
''Oh, but I don't get away at this time
of the day except on Saturdays" she an
swered naively.
Saturdays" he echoed, and added ir-
relevantly, Il come at this time each cay
in the week"
On this occasion the bus was full. and
they had no opportunity of conversing
There was the woman with the inevitable
baby, to which she talked in strIdent
tones in order to attract the notice of
the others to the superiority of that
which she had produced there was the
elderly clerk with the shiny top hat, with
a face showing even more wear than his
clothes; there was the impudent-looking
shop girl with her curly fringe and i'm
possible hat; there were a couple of
boys sucking oranges between aimIess
kicks at each others shins; there was
the shabby genteel spinster of uncertain
age, trying to pretend that she was not
clasplng brown paper parcel; there was
the representative of the back row in the
chorus, redClent of a cheap scent and
juggling with meretricious ornaments
These types, which repeat themselves to
safety to the habitual traveller in ON,
nibusses, climbed over the toes of the
little typewriter who drove their elbows
into the unchanging face of the for.
eigner; and when the omnibus stopped
and emptied itself out into the roaring
street, their cOunterparts only took their
ID 90SAgaV'S