The Fulton County news. [volume] (McConnellsburg, Pa.) 1899-current, 1907-01-24

During the reading, executed In
mechanical monotone (the readers
thoughts being engrossed In him
self, Moran, with his palms pressed
professionally together in the atti-
tude OF prayer, wrinkled his brow
and pursed his lips unavailingly.
He failed entirely TO discover what
| was required of him. The letter
afforded him no clue. being simply
the senseless verbal vitriol Of silly
woman, flushed with victory and the
spoils thereof, who, not content with
knocking her aversion down, must
needs return to infiict fresh torture
on the dazed victim. It seemed,
however, that in this case the hot
shot had gone astray. Cyrus Big
gerslake looked up at its conclusion
with an almost pleased expression
like baby.
1T is singular case" said Moran,
cropping for light. ''I believe"
| "Stop!" interrupted his friend,
scratching his head. Il am trying
to think"
| For nearly a quarter of an hour
Biggerslake sat bent in meditation.
Moran followed him to the regions OF
thought, tracing circles in the air
with his index finger.
"And So" said Cyrus, rising on a
sudden and stringing speech onto
wordless deliberations, "I will say
good-by. Sorry to have troubled
you"
The formula begot its stereotyped
! reply id Moran, more mystified than
ever, and before his brain could con-
troll the machine movements of his
tongue, Cyrus Biggerslake had gone
forth from his presence. the complete
; martyr, leaving a faint odor of gaso.
line. The summoning of the auto.
, mobiles master was productive oi
, great journalistic activity, and the
breeze of excitement even stirred the
wings of the Press Club albatross.
Those fatal fragments:
! Presently the flaring Sunday edi'
, tions showed their heads. The late
: Mrs Biggerslake, the supposed vic
I tim of an automobile accident, sworn
J dead by her husband, certified dead
. by DR.. Falcon, buried to all ap'
Z pearances, was alive, and living with
5 the aforesaid doctor at Los Angelesl
The city rocked with laughter.
, 60 Eastl" implored the martyrs
friends. But Cyrus would not
T could not.
. "I have lost Sadie" he said, "bui
5 win not lose San Francisco"
, The fascination of Frisco held
| I,ft In, oil
, riage of the inhabitants, due to gaz'
, ing up at the Twin Peaks from one
l end of Market street, and at the
"Spreckels column" and the Ferry
Building clock from the other, had
: his heart.
Leave Frisco? Neveri
I ridiculous sentimentalist!" cried
, his friends, and vanished.
1t must, then, have been senti
, mentalism that took him periodically
to the cemetery with brilliant
! wreaths, and--arrived at the grave
: "a torn soul. A stranger, in con
v versation with one of the attendants
j observing his abandonment of grie
a at a distance, inquired the circum
stances and the relationship of tn,
G dead.
: "Oh, he's bughouse," replied tn,
4 man, contemptuously. Should
Napa for his. The graves emp
e and so on, with the whole stor!
: embellished and enlarged.
: But Biggerslake, his fat bod!
a shaken with sobs, hung his wreathl
: on the tombstone, oblivious, as fal
[ as might be. to the surrounding
: world.
1 Bricks and my honor" he gulped
: sinking on one knee.
: In fact, Cyrus was quite happy
. T. OBJ. Hubbard, in the San Fran
cisco Argonaut.