The Irish standard. [volume] (Minneapolis, Minn. ;) 1886-1920, 1909-02-27
tongue as we'll as use II. the boy, Ar.
chic, does not know anything to

IOuSu0 as well AB use III ZIG UOy, AE'
chic, does not know anything to
tell" s-.... .
"He wouldn't tell it II he did," In
terrupted the colonel; and very con.
cisely but with evident pride NE gave
Archie's experience in the Chinese
quarter.
Keatcham's comment took the listen.
er's breath away; SO far atield was 1t
and so unlike his experience Of the
man; 1t was: winter, son like that
would be good deal of q comfort.
wouldn't he?"
"Poor little chap" said Winter.
HE hasn't any father to be proud Of
him-father and mother both dead"
Keatcham eyed Winter thoughtfully
a moment, then he said: you've
been married and lost children, your
aunt says. That must be hard. But
did you ever read that poem Of James
Whitcomb Riley's to his friend whose
child was dead? It's true what he says
they were better on than he who
had no child to de-"
Rupert was looking away from the
speaker with the instructive embar.
rassment of a man who surprises the
deeper feelings of another. He could
see out Of the window the lovely April
garden and Janet Smith amid the al.
mond blossoms. Only her shining
black head and her white shoulders
and bodice rose above the pink clus.
tiers. She looked up and nodded, see.
ing him; her face was . little pale,
but she was smiling.
II don't know" he said, cts hard
enough either way for a man."
Il never lost any children"
ans tone was dry, still, but it had not
quite the former desiccated quality
but was married, for little while.
II it's as bad to lose your children as
1t is to lose the hope of having them,
Unjust be hard. You lost your wife,
too?".
'Yes." said Rupert Winter. &c.,
At this moment he became con.
scious that Keatcham was avoiding his
gaze in the very manner of his avoid.
ing of Keatcham's moment ago: and
1t gave him bewildering sensation.
II wanted to marry my wife for
seven years before we we're married"
Keatcham continued in that carefully
monotonous voice. "She was the
daughter of the superintendent Of the
mine where was working. was
only 10 when first saw her. was
% when we were married. She used
to give me lessons; she was educated
and accomplished. She did more than
Is easy telling, for me. OF course. her
parents were opposed at first because
they looked higher for her, but she
brought them round by her patience
and her sweetness and her faith in
me. Six months after we were mar
rfed, she had an accident which left
her helpless invalid in wheeled
chair, at the best; at the worst, suf-
tering-you've known what 1t is to
see anybody, whom you care for. in
horrible pain and trying not to show 1t
when you come near?"
s''1 have" said Winter; merry hell,
isn't ftp
o.. II have seen that expression" said
Keatcham; IT never recognized its
peculiar appropriateness before. Yes,
1t is that. Yet, Winter, those two
years sfe lived afterwards were the
happiest Of my whole life. She said,
the last night she was with me, that
they had been the happiest Of hers. IS
The same flush which once before,
when he had seemed moved. had crept
up to his temples, burned his hollow
cheeks. He was holding the edge Of
the table with the tips of his fingers
and the blood settled about the nails
with the pressure of his grip. There
was an intense moment during which
Winter vainly struggled to think Of
something to say and looked more Of
his sympathy than he was aware;
then: Gary Mercer needn't think
that he has had all the hard times in
the world" said Keatcham in his
usual toneless voice. relaxing his hole
and leaning back on his pillows. The
color ebbed away gradually from his
face.
II don't wonder you didn't marry
again." said Winter.
you would not wonder II you had
known Helen. She always under.
stood. OF course, now. at 81. l could
buy pretty, innocent, young girl who
would do as her parents babe her, and
cry her eyes out before the wedding,
or a handsome and brilliant society
woman with plenty of matrimonial OK.
perience-but don't want them. I
should have to explain myself to
them; don't know how to explain
myself; you see can't half do it"
I reckon I understand a little"
II guess you do. You are different,
too. Well, let's get down to business,
think you some way Of getting the
women out of the house; and get your
sleuths after Atkins. It's we get him,
or he gets us!'
The amateur secretary assented and
prepared to 60, for the valet was at
the door, ready to relieve him; but
opposite Keatcham, he paused SEQ.
ond, made a pretense Of hunting for
his hat. picked 1t up in his left hand
and held out the right hand, saying: