Ottumwa tri-weekly courier. [volume] (Ottumwa, Iowa) 1903-1916, 1912-01-04

ARY a, 1912.
sions aloud, in voice low and not ,ln-
pleasing, for all that it was bantering,
the head porter stared at him with
mingling doubt and alarm; and as II
to pronounce these emotions mutely
for, the benefit Of the other, he per-
mitted his eyes to open their widest. \
Tut, tut; that's all right, porter.
am cursed with the habit Of speaking
my inmost thoughts. Some persons
asleep in church; I think orally.
Beastly habit, eh?'
The porter then understood that he
was dealing not with a species Of mild
lunacy, but with that kind Of light
hearted cynicism upon which the
world las porters know it) had set It's
approving seal. In brief. he smiled
family; and If he had any pleasantly
to pass in turn, the approach OF the
manager, now clothed metaphorically
in differentiation, relegated 1t to the
limbo Of things thought but left I'M
said. ..- t,t
Here is letter for you, Mr.. Ry-
II
mo" Mr.. Ryanne smiled. "6hall
pay for my room In advance?"
ooh, no, sir!" Ten years ago the
manager would have Slushed at hay
ing been so misunderstood. Your
room is '208" 's1.&, ~
"Will you have the boy show me
the way?"
II shall myself attend to that. If
{o aot VR,ho rSc11
be exchanged"
"The room is the one telegraphed
for. am superstitious to degree.
On three boats have had fine state
rooms numbered 208. Twice the num-
Der Of my hotel room has been the
same. On the last voyage there were
208 passengers, and the captain had
made 208 voyages on the Mediterran-
can"
quite q coincident.'
"Ah. If roulette could be played with
such certainty"
Mr.. Ryanne sighed, hitched up his
bundle, which, being heavy, was be-
ginning to wear upon his arm, and sig
nified to the manager to lead the way.
AS they vanished round the corner
to the lift, the head porter, studied the
guest-list. He had looked over it a
dozen times that day, but this was the
first instance Of his being really inter.
ested in It, As his chin was freshly
shaven he had no stubble to stroke
to excite his mental process, so he fell
back, as we say, upon the consoling
ends Of his abundant mustache. Curl
GUS; but all these persons were &C.
cupying or about to occupy adjacent
rooms. There was truly nothing mys-
FERROUS about 1t, save that the strang-
err had picked out these very names
as target for his banter. Fortune
Chedsoye; 1t was rather an unusual
name; but as she had arrived only an
hour or so before. he could not dis
tinctly recall her features. And then.
there was that word bucolic. He
mentally turned it over and over as
physically he was wont to do with
post cards left in his care to mail. He
could make nothing of the word, ex-
cept that it srnacked Of the East Ind
ian plague. .... ~
Here he was saved from further GER
ebral agony by timely interruption.
A man, who was not of bucolic per-
suasion either in dress or speech, ur-
ban from the tips of his bleached fin
gers to the bulb of his bibulous nose,
leaned across the counter and asked II
Mr.. Horace Ryanne had yet arrived.
Yes, he had just arrived; he was even
now on his way to his room. The ur-
ban gentleman nodded. Then, with a
finger slim and we'll trimmed, he
trailed up and down the guest list.
"Ha! see that you have the Duke
Of 'What-d -ye-call from Germany here.
I'll give you my card. Send 1t up to
Mr.. Ryanne. No hurry. I shall be
in again after dinner" ~. e..
He hustled OF toward the door. He
was pursy, well-fed, and decently
dressed, the sort of man who, when
he moved In any direction, created
the impression that he had an import
ant engagement somewhere else or
was pairing minutes from timetables.
For a man In his business 1t was
clever expedient, deceiving all but
those who knew him. He hesitated at
the door, however, as If he had chang
ed his mind in the twenty-odd PAGES
1t took to reach it. He stared for a
long period at the elderly gentleman
who was watching the feluccas on the
river through the window. The white
mustache and imperial stood out in
crisp relief against the ruddy sunburn
on his face. II he was aware of this
scrutiny on the part of the pursy gen
tleman, he gave not the least sign,
The revolving door spun round, send
ing puff OF outdoor air into the loung-
ing room. The elderly gentleman then
smiled, and applied his thumb and
forefinger to the waxen point OF his
imperial. w
In the intervening time Mr.. Ryanne
entered his room, threw the bundle on
the bed, sat down beside 1t, and read
his letter. Shadows and lights moved
across his face; frowns that hardened
1t, smiles that mellowed it. Women hold
the trick. Of writing letters. Do they
hate, their thoughts fash and burn
from line to line. Do they love, tits
lettered music. Do they conspire, the
breadth Of their Imagination Is with
out horizon. At best, man can fndite