Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1904-12-03
LOVES TICKET.

Copyright. 1904. by Frank H. Sweet,

one day she stopped and asked about his
family, and when the postman reappeared
after weeks absence she inquired If he
had been i'll.
And so it went with her into the shop, to
J the corner grocery-everywhere The new
warmth in her heart was making the whole
world seem brighter and more lovable. The
ticket in the basket had become almost a
matter of course. She looked for 1t regu-
larly now when taking out her packages,
and had about given up hopes of detecting
the donor. In good time, when the unknown
friend was ready she would know.
She was accustomed to leave her basket
at the grocers on her way to work and stop
for II when she returned at night. One
morning when her provisions were nearly
out she took it usual, but the grocer and
his assistant were busy, in the back shop,
with two or three impatient customers wait
ing, so she placed her basket upon barrel
with note and hurried off to her work.
When she stopped at night the basket was
just as she had left it, and the grocer, who
had always filled her orders, had gone to
his supper.
The assistant was comparatively new and
had done little waiting on customers. He
went behind the counter, wiping his hands
upon his apron and looking embarrassed.
Mr.. Brower'll be back pretty soon," he
volunteered nervously.
How long?'
Weller, ten minutes. mebbe, or a little
| more. He has to walk quite piece"
May looked purturbed. Her last ticket
was for concert to be given that night,
and she had determined on retrimming the
hat which month before she had thought
good enough.
cant you get the things for me?" she
asked. I'm in a hurry. 1 can show you
what l want and where they're kept"
"Oh, l know where they are kept well
enough" with good-natured smile mo-
mentarily hiding the embarrassment on his
face. Its the pesky tyin' up bundles that
1 hate. My fingers are too big. They do
all right for pillow handles an pitch forks,
but string is too small for EN-
What Are you from the country?" with
a sudden wistfulness in her voice.
Yes, six months ago, and" emphatically,
I'm going back there again. My folks have
a good farm. It's easier to get Twin
1 amt made a friend yet-'cause I'm too
green an bashful, 1 suppose. But it makes
the place seem awful lonesome. It's differ
| ent with you, guess, being used to a city,"
mo, I'm not used to it," she declared,
though I've been here two years. l came
! from the country, too. My folks died and
| 1 had to get work. l think the city is a
| lot more lonesome than the country"
you do?' his face beaming with sudden
pleasure. He tied the last package awk-
wardly. dropped it into the basket, and
| walked with her to the door. ITS funny
we both feel that way. II, but pshaw!"
breaking off abruptly.
''What?"
"Oh, nothinr' retreating toward the coun-
ter; "only II was thinkin' of an excur-
sion up the Sound Sunday, an we both be-
ing lonesome an alone, it seemed-but
know it's impertinent.'
She looked at him thoughtfully, her face
coloring a little. But he was only a boy
and from the country, and his face was
open and honest, though just now very red
and embarrassed. She nodded, little
doubtfully.
81 don't know but I might" she con-
ceded. Il know what tits not to be ac-
| quainted with anybody in the city. It's
awful lonesome. I-yes, I guess I'll be
| willing"
May had gone half a~block before She
missed her basket. When she returned
she found 1t On the counter. The assistant
had retreated to the back room. By this
time the shops and great stores were closed,
and the sidewalks were covered with hurry
ing pedestrians. May and her basket were
thrust to right and left by impatient home
seekers pushing by. So when she reached
home she was not surprised to find the Gus
tomary slip of pasteboard among her pack
ages.
This time, however, it was not a ticket,
but few pencied lines which read:
"If it's a good day Sunday I'm coming
for you to go on an excursion. 1 know