The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1903-02-05

into a thousand pieces and threw
them scornfully out of the carriage
window.
She had time to drive to her bank
er's before going to the steamer.
1t was the sting of seeing Gordon's
greeting to the tall girl ON the deck
which made Betty giVs a counter or
der to her coachman and turn and
drive back.
Gordon Forester groaned as he
read the account in the paper, and
crumpling it, threw it into the fire.
He had stopped in this city on his
way out west. He decided to leave
| the quest in the hands of his lawyers
at their urgent suggestion.
Gordon Forester looked haggard
and worn out as he got up and rest
lessly passed up and down.
Then he took his hat, and button
| ing up his overcoat, went out in spite
of the slush in the streets and the
drilling rain.
TrAmping modify along, he passed
a shabby, genteel house just as cab
SlODDCb, Il NOllldll SOJ OUT, d
good-natured youth jumping off the
top seat, helping her.
They exchanged few words and
she went up the steps, paused and
turned, and nodding brightly, went
in.
There was something strangely ia
miliar in the grace of her movement
l l.,
was dark, her hat shaded her face,
and her furs were drawn up to pro-
tect her from the cold wind and rain.
But Forrester's heart stood still.
How like Betty!
He wheeled and rang at the door.
"a young lady who writes on the
newspapers. The Evening Chronicle.
A very respectable young woman.
Was the gentleman related to her?"
Mrs. Beezley asked. Young Gordon
Forester, with disappearing suspi-
cion, and accepting his apology for
inquiring on the plea that he was
| hunting for a relative who looked
like the young lady, with an incredu-
| lous snort.
Upstairs in the room with the dor
mer windows Betty sat feeling
wretched and forlorn for the tall,
| tine-loolling, well-dressed young man
who passed just as she came in re-
| called Gordon Forester so wildly
that her heart beat and her face
flushed hotly.
May L come IMP" quiried Mary
Crawford, which she proceeded to
do, handing a bunch of violets to
| Betty.
Mary CrawfOrd's one beauty was
her melodious voice, which rang true
and sweet. She was an Unconditional,
| clever young woman, and has devel-
oped a warm friendship for the
beautiful, unhappy and forlorn
young woman, the society editor of
the Evening Chronicle.
Aren't you sick of all this stuff? '
she asked Betty, pushing aside a pa
per Betty had brought with her,
while helping with the tea things
| "What an outrage to publish such
stuff as the account of that young
man and his wife. 1t may do any
amount of harm. OF course there's
not a word of truth in it. Did you
see it?"
why do you think it is not truce"
Betty asked family, while busy with
the spirit lamp.
Mary laughed.
when you are as old newspaper
woman as | am you won't have to ask
that. You'll know intuitively. There's
so much sensation abroad. It's like
anonymous letters. Newspaper peo-
| pie have too much sense to attach
any Importance to anonymous let
tiers. 1t takes a green outsider to
l.take thing of that kind SERIOUSLY"
Then you would not believe one
word of an anonymous letter."
Not one. | have too much respect
for my intelligence to think such a
thing possible
But suppose"
MY dear, a heated Imagination
and jealousy and overhaste are what
the snake in the grass who writes
| trash of that kind dote on. Now a
newspaper reporter knows too much
about real trouble, sorrow and dis
| tress, If he has been sent, as | have,
| to investigate the lives of the work
ing people, to believe any of these
| silly, sensational stories, much less
anonymous letters. Trouble
But Mary did not conclude, because
| Betty had thrown her arms around
her neck and was weeping softly.
"A very tine-looking young man
called at the Office after you left"
| Mary mentioned a little later. ST
saw him, as you had gone, and
answered several questions. He was
much struck with that photo you
| gave me. l believe he said he was
coming to see you. He seems to
know some of your people"
There was a rapid step on the
stair; quick knock, and Gordon
| Forester came in.
With cry he held out his arms
Mary Crawford turned and pol1ed
| the fire and heard nothing of the
murmured words, somewhat smoth-
cred by Bettys close proximity to
Gordon's damp overcoat.
The Evening Chronicle lost the best
society editor that popular sheet had
| ever had.
| The Snn1ov mars cold.