Courier Democrat. (Langdon, N.D.) 1891-1920, 1910-09-15
Copyright. 1908. by the Bobbs.
Merrill Co.

first week in March. All the arrange
ments are complete" After coffee
Merrihew pushed back his chair. "Il
reserve a table in the billiard room
while you read your letter."
'Ill be with you shortly" CRATE
fully.
So with the inevitable black cigar
between his teeth Merrihew sauntered
off toward the billiard room, while
billiard picked up his letter and
studied it. His fingers trembled slight
~ as he tore open the envelope. The
handwriting, the paper. the modest
size, all these pointed to a woman of
culture and refinement. But a subtle
spirit Of irony pervaded it all. She
would never have answered his print
ed inquiry had she not laughed over
it. for pinned to the top of the letter
was the clipping. the stupid. banal
clipping: "Will the lady who sang
from Nine. Angot' communicate with
gentleman who leaned out of the Win
dow? j. H.. Burgomaster club"
There was neither a formal beginning
nor a formal ending, only four crisp
lines. But these implied one thing
and distinctly-the writer had no de-
sire for further communication with
gentleman who leaned out Of the Win
dow" He read and reread slowly:
am sorry to learn that my singing dis
turbed you. There was a reason. At that
particular moment l was happy.
That was ali. 1t was enough. She
had laughed. She was a lady humor-
ously inclined, not to say mischievous,
A comic opera star would have sent
her press agent round to see what ad.
vertising could be got out of the Incl.
dent; a prima donna would have ap.
pealed to her primo tenor for the
same purpose. A gentlewoman surely
moreover, she lived within the radius
the official radius, of the Madison
square branch Of the p%ostofice. for
such was the postmark. Common
sense urged him to dismiss the whole
affair and laugh I'VE it as "the lady
in the fog" had done. But common
sense often goes about with a pedant's
strut and is something to avoid OF oc'
casions. Here was a harmless pastime
to pursue. common sense notwith'
standing. The vein Of romance in him
was strong, and all the commercial
blood of his father could not subju.
gate it. He rang for paper and a
messenger and wrote: Nine. Angot
There is a letter for you in the
mail department of this office" This
time his initials were not necessary
Once the message was on its way ht
sought Merrihew. whom be found
knocking the balls about in a spiritless
name
"a hundred to seventy-fve. Dan"
For what?"
"For the mere fun of the game, OF
course"
make it cigars. just to add inter.
est"
"Cigars, then"
But they both played a very indif-
ferent game. At 1890 Merrihew's
eyes began to Eaunt the clock, and Hill
lard grew merciful for various rea-
sons.
What time does the performance
end?" he asked.
"At 1880, but it takes about twenty
minutes to scrape off the makeup"
Merrihew put his cue in the rack.
He made off for the coat room.
billiard laughed and went up to the
writing room to fulfill a part Of his
destiny. He took the letter out and
read it again. He replaced the letter
in it's blue covering, and then for the
first time bis eye met the superscrip-
ton. Like a man entranced he sat
there staring. The steward had
brought the letter to him, and in his
first excitement this had made no i'm
preston upon his mind. He had seen
nothing peculiar nor strange. And
here it was, not his initials. but his
name In full.
She knew who he was!
In a fashionable quarter Of the city
there stood a brownstone house, with
grotesque turrets, winding steps and
glaring polished red tiles. There
was a touch of the gothic, of the
renaissance Of the old English man.
or; just a touch. however, a kind
Of blind mans buff Of a house. A
very rich man lived here, but for ten
months in the year he and his family
duttered about the social centers of the
world. And, with a house like this on
his hands, one could scarce blame him.
Twice a week during this absence a
caretaker came in. flourished a feather
buster and went away again. Society
reporters always referred to this house
rs "the palatial residence"
This morning a oma stood In the
alcove window and looked down into
the g%listening street. The venetian