Frostburg mining journal. [volume] (Frostburg, Md.) 1871-1913, 1903-06-13
!; AS THROUGH A ;
!: GLASS :
By Lillian c. PASCHAL {
. Copyright, 1909, by the .
S. S. Mcclure Company
"Will you look at thatW
By Lillian c. PASCHAL

Miss DAVIDSON swung around on ner
swivel chair and held an open letter
toward katherine Howard, Editor
Woman's Page" known in private life
as Jack Higgins.
He took his feet down from his desk
and his cigarette from his mouth,
which small inciyilities lose their i'm
newspaperdom, even if he had not
been her cousin and privileged, and
read aloud:
New York. Oct. I.
Dear Miss Howard-Will you please ad-
wise me through your valuable column
which read daily with much pleasure
how I can possibly obtain an introduction
to q most attractive young lady In the
offlce across the street from mine? l am
sure she Is good and bright and lovabls
from her looks. which I study surrepti-
tiously from my window every day. But
seeing through a glass darkly Is most un-
satisfactory-she IL so tantalizinsly near
and yet so far. l am a young jeweler of
twenty y-seven-father left me good busi-
ness-a Yale graduate of good family and
honorable intentions but how can I lot
her know all this? She is not the flirting
kind, and might wait years before find
ing a mutual friend to introduce US.
Yours anxiously. PERCIVAL r. c.
"Uh-huh," grunted Miss Howard"
putting new life into the dimming light
of his Turkish, "lIke scads of others
we get, isn't it?'
But do you see the address of that
importing firm?"
Lesson & CLIFFORD. DIAMOND I'M
PORTERS.
J, B. Lesson. P. r. Clifford.
Fifth floor. Center Building. N. Y.
Looks familiar" Jack ruminated,
gazing thoughtfully out into the smoky
side street. His glance fell upon a
white lettered sign on the window Op-
posite. He chuckled. by Jove! see
it all, cousin. He is your conquest
across the way. who probably labors
under the impression that you are
Miss Howard-thus are my laurels
stolen from me. He is standing in the
window over there now, waiting, most
likely, to see how you take his deep
laid plot"
"Who? Conquest. 1 have no. be-
gan Miss Davidson innocently, but
she flushed pinkly all over her pretty
face and stopped short under Jacks
amused scrutiny.
Now, 10, dear, don't try to fool
your Uncle Jack. It's my private
opinion that every woman's heart Is a
Marconi receiving apparatus that reg
listers faithfully every answer to her
own charms"
Jack" This time the tone was in
nx J,t% toll ;rf
with q stranger"
"Never, my child. You misread my
metaphor. Well, III let you answer
the letter. Tell him Faint heart ne'er
won,' etc." he added teasingly, taking
up his blue pencil to begin the makeup
for the next issue of the woman's
page.
81 shall certainly give him some
good advice" she returned, with toss
Of her shapely head.
Accordingly the next days issue of
the Evening Arrow published the let
ter of "Percival II. c." at the head Of
the "Cupid's Column" Below it was
the chilling editorial reply:
"Would refer you to a wiser author
ity. the national proverbs first, 'Ap-
pearances are deceitfur; second, Fate
brings together those destined for each
other Don't meddle with destiny"
Which journalistic wet blanket, how
ever, seemed not to have the intended
cooling effect upon its recipient, for he
opened his window every afternoon
thereafter just the same and whistled
loudly to newsboy below to bring
up two Arrows"
Having in due time received them,
he sat down on the broad window sill
and ostentatiously perused the entire
woman's page. Across the way the
assistant editor thereof dimpled and
twinkled over her desk and her muci-
lage brush. though her head was stu
diously turned away from the street.
Miss Davidson prided herself on her
rigid sense of justice, but sometimes 1t
was sorely tested. 1t was her duty
to open and read all letters and the
manuscripts for the daily prize story
of 800 words. These last she assorted
into three piles-good, possible and i'm
possible. The first were published, the
second turned over for another read
ing and final decision to the editor,
Miss Howard" The last were re-
turned to the writer's.
She came upon one which she un
hesitatingly pronounced good and was
about to place it on the first pile when
the name and address Of the author
caught her eye.
She recognized them as belonging to
woman who was second reader"
on well known magazine and who
had only the week before rejected
story which Miss Davidson had sub
mtted for publication. Her checks
burned anew as she recalled the curt
sentence scrawled across the usual
printed declined with thanks" slip
which rouses all the evil passions In
the literary temperament:
Dear Madam-You can surely do better
stories than this Send us a really first
rate story, and We will be glad TO con-
slider 1t. ALICE C. SMITH. Reader.
She took n rejection slip from
pigeonhole in her desk. Chance had
put revenge into her own hands.
She dipped her pen into the violet
ink and poised it above the slip. Then
she paused. This was the Sumter
shot of the war between "cattiness,"
which she detested. and justice. An
other moment Of hesitation, then Vie