The herald. [volume] (New Orleans, La.) 1905-1953, 1911-02-23

that connection. lie would have gone
to his boarding house, but no one,
save perhaps Shorty, who had de-
serted his wife. would be there-they
all had wives or kids or mothers or
some girl TO make merry with, to be
kind to, If only once year. Then into
the city clangor came the beat Of
drum and a singing and strumming-
the Salvation Army. In their march
they stopped near him-he could catch
the words of the high, coarse tenor:
Come homel Come homel
Why don't you all come homer
The song finished, he caught words
Of the harSngue begun by a young
girl with a clear voice.
Eyes, come home! Come back to
your real selves! Quit your sin, your
drinkin' an gamblin' an be decent,
boys, 1t pays! 1t pays, girls! Go
home to your mothers! Sin amt pleas
ure, an it costs dear In tears an hu-
man misery! Come homer He skunk
away disgustedly. 1t seemed there was
no escape.
1t was too early to play poker. Well,
he could go to the postoffice at least
for his mail. But here, too, was Christ
mas-hurrying crowds, laughter. And,
escaping a bevy Of young girls, he ran
into and nearly knocked over a shabby
old woman, sweet faced, wistful eyed,
with trembling mittened hands. He
put her on her feet again almost ten
derby, apologizing, but she peered up
into his face-a kind face with good
eyes In spite Of all.
81 was waitin' for my GIRL" she be-
gan with the volubility of lonely age.
81 amt heard from her in a year, my
Molly. She would be sure to come for
letters Christmas time, wouldn't she.
think? P'raps you know her, Mary
Shane?" she asked eagerly, not mind
Ing his shake Of the head. "She's pref
ty, is Molly, with big blue eyes an
curly yellow hair, an little, like doll
Do you s'pose sometimes happened
her? She might-just forget to write,
"And the other article contained In
the bookF' she asked "If you will
identify that she paused suggestive
ly.
For an instant he hesitated. then
spoke with decision. From its char
acter you will understand why the
subject is a delicate one"
"Here is the pocketbook," said Pau
line smiling II am sure 1t Is the one
you lost, and l am very glad to re-
store 1t to you"
The owner almost snatched the book
from her hand. so eager did he seem to
recover his property. He stammered
hasty words Of gratitude and without
opening the pocketbook thrust 1t In
his pocket and took his leave with ap-
parent relief.
When she was alone Pauline smiled
rather maliciously as she took from a
table drawer the clipped picture OF
herself and carried it TO her room.
That night at dinner her father
spoke somewhat vexedly. do you
recollect Pauline. my dear. that
promised you should have that set Of
furs in WickelsY'
How could forget. dad? You don't
mean that you have really ordered
them for me?" cried Pauline delight
edly.
81 was about to do so yesterday
when lost my pocketbook. I'd been
to the bank and drawn the cash. was
bringing ii home to you. when some
how. somewhere not far from home,
I lost the COMPOUNDED thing. You'll
have to wait another week for the
furs, puss."
"What sort of pocketbook was 1t,
dad% asked Pauline mechanically.
The question seemed a natural one
enough now-she had interviewed so
many lost property owners that day.
New one bought a week ago, red
Russia, had four hundred in 1t and
clipping of some sort about queer uses
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