The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1909-06-11
(Continued.l

"But didn't know you knew any oi
 the Standishes except =, .h,,
 "I don't yet. But I Will oy tnen tha | I'll. get asked. You're go1n 10 tne
 musicle part of it with Mrs. Hawar- i den. ain't you, Dey? You sald somvI i thin about it yesterday Well, you ya II | see me there. Say! as d new .1|-
 struck him, "how'd you like to pc ask
 cd to the dinner, too? That's the ex- | cloosiye part of the whole snow On
 iy about dozen guests: More,n so,e a
 couple of hundred at the mnsicie'
 Want to go to the dinner?
 .eOf course not" she exclaimed;
 ..what d crazy idea! As if you could
 get me an invitation, even II oiu l want to-" ,-ed i Caleb 'Tm goin' myselfs | Caine. who had dropped wholly out
 of the talk, rose to go There was 1 curious restraint about his manner as
 he bade Desiree goodpye' g rebus.ed De- siree as soon as she and the Fighter
 were left alone. "Of all the historl,
 'cally idiotic plunges into other peoples
 greenhouses I ever saw ,s c.,eb | "What've I done now? 7? asKeo Cdieo
 What haven't you done?" she re- ! torted Don't you know MT. Came IS | engaged to Lefty Standish?" l ssI'd forgotten for the minute. what
 of it?'' s o,,,d
 'There you sat and boasted you a
 he invited to dinner at her house. | When you don't even know her. Wna. l am I do with you? I've great mlnoo Q
 to make you drink two more cups oI
 q don't see yet what the row is,, he
 pleaded. "But I've rled you Oey' | na
 awful sorry. oughtn't to come nerg z l " hel, there's civilized folks calm.
 only make you ashamed. an
 How often must I tell you" she
 cried, angriiy. her big eyes @ suoogm,S s,,nS
 things? You know they hurt me!'
 why should it hurt anyone when I I talk of goin' to a."
 "I'm not speaking about the dinner. 1 It's about your not coming 10 see I,,,ne mo l they needn't call on me. As Tor peing I 'ashamedf of you-here! Take this I cup of tea and drink it. Drink 1t, say.
 And when you finish you must or1nk 'i another. All of it. With sugar in 1t: Two Jumps I don't care if you do hate sweet things. You've got to De Lpunished! Drink it!'
 | Conover obediently gulped down the | Ioathed liquid and held out his cup with an air of awkward contr1tlon, TOT | the second instalment of his penance.
 "Now, do I get forgiven?" he peg
 ged- "It's vile stuff; An, ,a l frienas drans every drop, Dey. Please De Irlehus | again. Aw. please do!'
 ssYou big overgrown babyi she sa1o l looking laughingly down into his req, reniorsefuI face. !" You talk very, very | loudly about being a grown man. and | a financier.. And some of the papers call you Brute Conover-the wretch | ed sheets! But you're only about ten years old-. No one knows you except me. To, the others you may be able l to talk as if you were grown up, but | it never imposes on me for a minute. s.That's right" he assented wonder | ignly. fI never thought of it that | way before. don't know why 1t IS l 1a II never naQ any boyhood or a chance to be young l I seem to have been born, grown up
 an on the lookout to get the pest or
 the next feller .rnp Then fmf1 wneh yeaes ges | and feel like kid. It's great to be
 that way. Nobody else ever makes me feel SOL .
 T suppose not" mocked the girl. I s.Your other friends are fossly people all about million years old. And | you look on me as a. child and try to talk and act down to my level. It ls very humiliating. I'm nearly twenty and quite grown up and
 | Your eyes are, anyhow" comment ed Caleb. They're two sizes too large for your face.'' | "Is that compliment? If 1t 1s-, "I don't know" pursued Conover. i | never noticed how big they was till one day when you were drinkin' ice tea Then, all of a sudden, it struck | me that if your eyes wasn't so pig I glass. Now you're mad again? he | sighed. "But it's true. You're aW- fuI little. You don't much more n come up to my elbow"
 s'When you're quite through saying | woozzey things about my size and my eyes" said Desiree, cOldly, perhaps | you won't mind talking of something ! sensible?'
 | Caleb, "Pd like to talk a little bout what you said few minutes ago. About my bein' young. You don't get | it quite right. I'm not young an l never was or will be,--except With you. 1 When you an me are together, some part of me that I don't generally know | is there, seems to take charge. May | be I don't explain it very clear. l don't seem quite to understand 1t my self. Here's the idee: Dyou remem- Der that measly little green-covered French book found you cryin' over | once? The Wee Of something" "You mean Barrieres Vie de Be- heme?''
 That's it. The French play you said was wrote from a book by some other parly-voo chap. You told me l the story of it, I remember It didn't make much of hit with me at the | ttime, an couldn't quite see where the cry come in. But I got to thinkin' of | it when you spoke just now. Remem- Der the chap. in there who told the wasn't for her he'd be nothin' but just | a plain grown man? Twas her that kep' him feelin' like boy. An then | when she died-let's see-what was it | he hollered? Something bout"
 70. ma Jeunesse. c'est vous uu'on | enterre" quoted Desiree.
 | Maybe SOL assented Caleb. doubt fully. "It sounds like a Chinese 1aun- | dry ticket to me. That was the part | you were cryin' over. too. What is it | in English ?"
 oh my Youth. 1t is you they are | burying!' ' translated the girl That's the answer said Conover, gravely. "Now let's talk about some thing letter worth while than me. I was chinnin' with Caine this afternoon | about you. He says if you marry the right sort of man. your place in so- ciety's cinched. What do you think of | that
 How utterly sillyI' she laughed. | ''Ca1eb. this society idea of yours has become an obsession. What do I care for that sort of thing. It's pleaSant to