The Washburn times. [volume] (Washburn, Wis.) 1896-1976, 1904-07-07
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Copyright 1904, BY Allison
K. u. Whitehead


on his way home. The sheets of paper
We're unfolded, and the letter com
menced in a way that made him think
he had as much right to read it as any
one else. 1t was love letter; undoubt-
edly the whole heart of the woman
was in it, but it commenced Dear I'm
known Man." Before he read it he
thought some silly schoolgirl had put
it in the book with the intention of
getting up a Irritation, but he realized
that it was a letter schoolgirl could
not have written.
This woman was tired and diSap-
pointed. She had evidently expected
more than she had found and through
some within had written all her disap-
pointmellt and heartache to the only
person that could fully understand it
her ideal man.
There was longing for an under
standing and for a sympathy that the
known men had never been able to sat
1sfy. Stanley could imagine that she
had relieved spell of dependency by
putting her thoughts on paper on the
same principle that he talked to his
dog or smoked an extra cigar. The
thing he could not understand was that
woman capable of such depths of in
tellect and feeling should have had so
silly an impulse and put the letter in
library book.
There was no name or address-at
least she expected no reply
He got up from his easy chair and
walked to the window. A cold, driz-
zling sleet beat against the pane, and
the electric lights from the street turn
ed the night into a CHASTITY gray.
His dog had followed him and stood
with his fore paws on the window
ledge.
A sudden, furious blast striking the
pane made the dog rub his head against
his master and whine his desire for
companionship and affection.
Are you lonely, too, old fellow? Two
old bachelors like us, living in a fiat,
ought not to expect to be gay. You
ought to be glad that you are not out in
the storm, you ungrateful wretch" He
stroked the dogs head and thought of
the loneliness expressed in the letter
he had just read.
"By Jove, she knows the real article
1t must be the lonely in a crowd feel
ing. She seemed to be society wom-
al-the monogram on her paper didn't
indicate poor girl working for her liv-
ing"
He went back to his chair before the
fire and wondered if it would be pos
sible for him to locate her. He fancied
he would like to meet her and study
the woman, aided by his knowledge OF
her inner thoughts as expressed in the
erratic letter.
Suddenly he threw away his cigar
with an expression of satisfaction,
Sherlock Holmes might have solved it
in less time, but he couldn't have
thought of an easier method of finding
her."
The next morning at the library the
woman in charge gave Stanley the at
tentiOn that his looks always won from
women.
'The book was last returned by Joan
RanSdell. zoos Massachusetts avenue.
l am sure it will be very kind Of you
to return anything that you found in
it. Very few people would trouble
themselves to that extent"
Stanley kept the letter in his pocket,
and if his acquaintance could have
compared notes during the next few
days they would have thought that he
was suffering from mania that took
the form of an acute desire to learn if
his auditor knew a certain Miss Joan
Ransdell.
He himself had only been in the city
a few months after an absence of sew
eral years He thought she must be a
newcomer, and the address given car
ried out his idea that she was not
among the working class.
1t was a week before he met a mu
tual acquaintance. Then Jim Dent re-
peated his question: "Know Miss Rams
dell? Certainly do. She takes dinner
old MANI"
When Stanley was getting into his
evening clothes, he carried on his
usual conversation with the dog: ''Don,
old chappie, I'm going to see her to-
night. We are going to solve prob
lem. Be good, old fellow, and don't
get lonely, and I'll tell you about her
when l get home"
He brought rug from the bedroom
and put it in front of the crate. The
dog looked on knowingly and then lay
down on it TO take the ham bone that
his master always left as a special
treat when he went out to dinner The
pretty waitress in the cafe had a
habit of coaXfng the elevator boy to
give the nice bones to the nice dog that
belonged to the nice man on the fourth
floor.
Don beat the floor with his tail in
satisfied approval while Stanley put
on his overcoat, patted him on the
head and went out.
When he came in that night the dog
heard his step and met him at the
door.
He put on his dressing gown and
slippers, sat down before the fire and