Waterbury evening Democrat., 1904-09-22
THE DISTANT
 DRUM
By Y. H. LANCASTER
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 (copyright, 1904, by Daily Story Pub. Col


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 Copyright, lSch by Daily Story Pub. Col
 CHARLEY BRoNToN grinned: "'Nor heed the rumble of a distant drum,'" he quoted, derisively. Then he read the closing lines of her letter again. "Dear little girl forgive this stupid let ter, I'm tired tonight, dog-tired."
 Slipped up on yourself that time, old fellow. No woman would write like that dog tired. Dear little girl,' And you still expect me to believe that M stands for Mary? So? Let's see if Lottie can't hold up her end of the line rather better?" And smiling savagely he drew sheet Of perfumed note nearer and wrote in the large, angular characters the girls of his acquaintance affected:
 My own dear Molly distant rufde of doubt reached him. If it should be woman? He laughed harshly. May the gods mend my folly I'll swear he is a man. He gives himself away at every turn. Though why in reason he should wish to pose as woman-unless he is scamp-and that's what he is. And dead to the drum, and the absurdity of 5E plunged into an account of society plums that did great credit to his own faith in his imagination.
 Long years ago when he was college boy, Charles Bronton had had girl cor respondent, but he realized that those letters were not what a girl would be apt to write to a feminine correspond ent, and confidant; and this was the problem he had been wrestling with ever since the taking tenderness of Lullaby had lured him into writing note of congratulations to it's author and native shyness of sentiment forced him to sign this note Charlotte Bronton. He had said what he felt an urgent need of saying and his tracks were covered. Yet the reply surprised him. It began: My dear little lady, He Charles Bron- ton, the stern man of affairs had never been mistaken for woman before. Tn the first sting of his pique the old love of mischief, he had believed long dead, awoke and came to his assistance. There was tempting chance to make fool of the other fellow-and stocks were good just then. Bronton wrote such reply as he fancied befitting the pen of "dear little lady" and awaited developments.
 The answer that came promptly was gravely gentle with suggestion of ten derness that stirred in him emotions he had not felt since his mothers fingers had been taken from his hair forever.
 But he dodged the emotion and the drum and sunk the sensation in care less By glory, the fellow knows his 5z ence ran upon literature and the emo tions in the abstract, but Bronton re- membering hard those girlish letters of long ago soon hinted coyly desire to know what the M in Mr. Boswells name stood for. He had been told promptly that 1t was not MT. Boswell, but Miss, and that the M stood for Mary. Hearty laughter came to him for the first time since he had joined the Money-Mads. For M Boswell's letters, in spite of that clevefly suggested tenderness, had been masculine almost to the point of tobacco smelling.
 What the deuce is he driving at?" iBronton grumbled, sobering suddenly. Was it an effort to force his hand or design to dupe young girl. Bronton had business mans opinion of literary chaps. And as stocks took bad turn just then his projected fun ended in grim determination to lead on scound- rel to his undoing. He laid on the young girl thick and sweet and evidently sine won upon M. Boswell. The replies he received took on more openly, tender tone, quickened with cheery hope that it heartened one to read. Charlotte was soon cut down to Lottie or simply "My dear"-which last sometimes caused a ruffie from the distant drum. Bronton was forced to yield grudging admira-y tion to the fellows skill, his gradual approaches, and the tenacity with which he held each gain of ground. This let ter had begun My dear" and so full had it been of strong, sweet patience that once or twice during the reading of It the distant drum had drawn near suppose it should be woman, a woman who could understand-th kind of wom- an he had felt the need of when things went wrong. But at that ending. But at that ending dog tired'' he had hard ened his heart in bitter disgust-at such bad acting. Now for lot of girlish sym pathy and not little girlish love and we will see what becomes of Mary"
 A reply came by return mail: My own dear little girl" he read. Your sympathy was very sweet, but it made me feel like a thief in the night"-ah, ha. flor matters were not nearly so bad with me as evidently led you to believe"-oh, bosh--'I woader if you realize what your letters have come to mean to me-hke open, sunny places in the thin woods of life. Do you remember the woods where Rinaldo strove--hend possessed? I don't mean that my life is nearly so diff ficult. but I'm an impatient beast and when cannot make all earth and half of Heaven go the way I want, there is
 nOthinp 1aft hl1t swearing and fhot