Catoctin clarion. [volume] (Mechanicstown, Md.) 1871-1940, 1907-01-03
CHAPTER n.
Thomas Dexter's Romance.

Thomas DeXter'S Romance.
The slight reference to the arrow
which many years ago had found its
way to Thomas Dexter's heart fur
nishes material for detail-which shall
be brief as woman's love.
Yes, Thomas Dexter had had his 70.
nance.
The scene was Glare Market, the time
twelve years ago. He was treating
himself to a cheap stroll through the
busy thoroughfares when, stopping for
moment at & vegetable stall. his
eyes suddenly met the ey,s of Polly
Cleaver.
She was no stranger to him, being a
native Of the locality. He must have
seen her thousands Of times, and he
had never given her thought; Ger.
tainly it never entered his mind to pay
her the slightest attention.
But his time had now arrived-and
the woman. A magnetic spark flashed
from Polly's eyes into his. Thomas
Dexter's heart was lost, and Polly
Cleaver was the winner.
Love is blind; but to be blind is not
necessarily to be foolish.
Mortals deprived of sight are, as a
rule, shrewd enough. Some are cum
ming; some are cruel; few are thor
oughly simple.
Love is an exception, however, being
frequently foolish as we'll as blind.
OF course 1t was Saturday night. II
any prince in disguise wished to seek
for adventure in London street, let him
select Saturday night for the enter
prise.
Then come out the toilers and moil-
ers, the pleasure-seekers, the pain
reapers.
Girls who have been at work all the
week fit about like butterflies, and en-
Joy blissful moments, meeting their
lovers, and helping to fill the theatres
and music halls.
The streets and public houses are
thronged; the sky is lurid with the re-
lection Of myriad gas jets.
From the garrets and the cellars
creep strange figures into the light-the
Did, the decrepit, the solitary drinker,
the stranger among millions, the man
whom nobody knows, the child whom
nobody owns, the wretch in hiding, the
undiscovered murderer. 1t is the holi.
day hour of the week.
Polly Cleaver was not alone. Her
father was by her side, with a glass or
two, or more correctly speaking, the
contents Of pewter pot or two in him.
In which respect Polly was his match,
and therefore, prudence might have
suggested, no match for Thomas DeX-
ter. But when was love prudent?
The girl was not even pretty, and she
and her family were certainly not re-
spectacle. All sorts of queer stories of
Polly's "goings on were current.
Thomas Cleaver did not think of this
when he went home on that Saturday
night with the image of Polly Cleaver
In his minds eye.
Polly Cleaver-Polly Cleaver! He
could think Of nothing but Polly
Cleaver.
What eyes she had! What a com.
plexion! What laughing mouth,
what large white teeth. He idealized
every feature in her face, every move
ment of her body. The man was pos.
sessed.
He passed a bad night, and he might
have had a fever had he not found his
way to Polly Cleaver's lodgings on the
following day, which in the natural
order of time was Sunday.
Mr.. Cleaver, who had been all his life
carpenter out Of work, met Thomas
Dexter on the stairs, as that love-lorn
mortal was mounting to the second
floor back, in which the Cleavers re.
sided.
"Hallow cried Mr.. Cleaver. "What
brings you hereY
What could Thomas Dexter reply to
this straight thrust except, 1--WE come
to see how Polly is.''
(To be Continued.)