The Denison review. [volume] (Denison, Iowa) 1867-current, 1906-08-09
In the Smart
Little Trap
BY VIRGINIA LEILA WENTz
Copyright, 1906. by Homer sprague


What do you bet don't land him, trap
and all, before the summers flown by ~
Miss Irene Warden, a beauty (and
aware of it), was writing to her girl
chum concerning the bachelor who had
just taken the big colonial house with
the carriage road and iron archway
which for several seasons now had
abandoned hope of usefulness.
She was writing by an open window
where the scent of the roses came up
from the front garden. Beyond lay
the pretty tree lined road over which
the bachelor and his champagne col
ored trap had just flown by
although I've told you his name is
Horace Matlock," ran on Miss War
denis pen, 81 haven't told you what he
looks like. He's an old man, forty or
fifty. should say. His nose is rather
too big, although people call him hand
some, and he's Il bit bald, but, then,
suppose most men who live in big
houses and drive smart traps have big
noses. What?" Miss Warden smiled
little soft smile into the glass above
her dressing table and then bent over
her portfolio again:
''Of course I'd prefer dear old Tom.
He's young and stunning and sings
college songs so beautifully, but, as
you know, he hasn't a red. And | real
~ must do something this summer.
Madge. My already meager allowance
will be cut considerably in the autumn,
for in September pas going to enter
the matrimonial game himself-a hor-
rid designing widow too! So | must
step lively in the parlance of street
car officials.
"In point of fact. though" pursued
the voluble pen, It'll be pretty easy.
plain sailing. l haven't single good
looking rival up in this out of the way
place except old Professor Thornton's
daughter, and she's the quietast poke
of a girl-a regular stay at home And
as for dressing-well, Madge, you and
l spend as much ON our gloves and
wells, reckon. as she does on her
whole outfit. That's what comes from
having a boollworm for a father
The next week in the little village
postoftice a friend presented Mr.. Hor
ace Matlocll to Miss Irene Warden.
Apparently the meeting was by acct
dent, but Miss Warden felt her smooth
cheeks flush, and her habitual COM
posure was rippled for a second, while,
for his part, Mr.. Matlock scarcely look
ed at her and. having passed con-
veat;o.l glad to meet you" lifted his
hat politely and walked out to his
smart little trap.
II had on my chic wolfe, the one
Aunt Tessie sent me from Paris, you
know" wrote Miss Warden to Madge,
and my big white hat with Hopping
fuchsias. But it was all rank waste"
She couldn't understand it, Her
dreams hadn't ended that way at all.
One day in the tiny idle little bank
Mr.. Horace Matlocl stopped short as
he recognized a stopped, gaunt figure
with a patrician face.
why, it's Professor Thornton. isn't
it?" he cried, stepping up to him With
a cordially outstretched hand.
When Matlocl years ago had entered
Yale as a freshman Thornton had been
tutoring, and quite a friendship had
sprung up between them. Subsequent
ly they had lost track of each other
But the satisfaction of the younger
man in meeting the older one again
was genuine.
Poor old professor! How thin and
worn and aged he's becomew thought
Matlock as he drove the professor
home to his modest little cottage.
Out in the cottages side yard by the
hollyhocks a girl was picking great
bunch of sweet peas for the lunch
table. When she heard the smart lit
tie trap stop at the gate she looked
quickly up from the blossoming vines
and wondered. Who was the distin-
guished looking stranger? And where
had he picked up dear daddy?
A few days later Matlock drove up to
the cottage again. 1t was only decent.
he told himself, that he should show
the professor some attention and take
him driving now and then. Perhaps
some day also he would take the pro-
fessor's daughter. He liked her. He
liked the natural, unabashed way in
which she had acknowledged her ia
TIERS presentation of him, With her
sleeves rolled up and her arms full of
sweet peas; he liked the width between
her eyes, the breadth of her brow, the
lines Of her mouth. She was less pref
ty than many young girls, but there
was about her Il freshness, sweet
ness, that pleased him, and he had no
ticed that her figure in her simple lit
tie gown was well nodded and slim.
One evening toward twilight, when
out in the open lawn bats We're whrl-
ing aimlessly and tirelessly, Matlock
dropped in upon the professor to make
him little call. He had fetched him
his afternoon mail as preteXt. While
they were sitting out on the porch from
the shadowy little parlor came the
first chords of Beethoven's beautiful
"Moonligl4 Sonata"
CHATS Cynthia" said Professor
Thornton in answer to his guests start
OF surprise "She's never too tired, no
matter how hard or long the day has