Baraboo weekly news. [volume] (Baraboo, Wis.) 1912-197?, 1912-08-01

not distinctly 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
postcards left in his care to mail.
He could make nothing Of the word.
except that it smacked of the East
Indian plague.
Here he was saved from further
cerebral agony by timely Interrupt
ton. A man, who was not of bucolic
persuasion either in dress or speech,
urban from the tips of his bleached
fingers to the bulb Of his bibulous
nose, leaned across the coupter and
asked If Mr.. Horace Ryanne had yet
arrived. Yes, he had just arrived: be
vas even now on his way to his room.
The urban gentleman nodded. Then,
with a finger slim and well-trimmed,
ne trailed up and down the guest-list.
"Ha! l 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. / shall be In
again after dinner"
he OuSLlSu OA LCWdIO tA0 QOOIs
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 important
engagement somewhere else Or was
pairing minutes from timetables. For
man in his business it was clever
expedient, deceiving all but those who
knew him. He hesitated at the door,
however, as If he had changed his
mind in the twenty-odd PAGES it took
to reach it. He stared for q 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 rudy sunbur-
| on his face. If 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 a puff of outdoor air into the
lounging-room. The elderly gentleman
! then smiled, and applied his thumb
and forefnger to the waxen point of
his imperial.
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 it, smiles that mellOwed it.
| Women hold the trick of writing let
tiers. Do they hate, their thoughts
| flash and burn from line to line. Do
| they love, it's 1ettered music. Do they
conspire, the breadth of their imagi-
nation is without horizon. At best,
man can indite only polite business
| letter, his love-notes were adjudged
long since a maudlin collection of
loose sentences. In this letter Mr.. Ry-
anne found the three parts Of life.
"She's a good general; but hang
these birthstone efforts Of hers. She
talks too much of heart. For my part.
prefer to regard it as a mere phys
ical function, a pump, a motor, pow
er that gives action to the legs, either
| in coming or in going, more especially
in going" He laughed. "Well, hers
| Is the inspiration and hers is the law.
And to think that she could plan all
this on the spur of the moment, down
to the minutest detail! It's science"
He put the letter away, slid out his
legs and glared at the dusty tips Of
| his shoes. "The United Romance and
| Adventure Company, Ltd, Of New
York, London, and Paris. She has the
greatest gift of all, the sense of hui
NOR"
He rose and opened his kit-bag
doubtfully. He rummaged about in
the depths and at last Strengthened
up with a mild oath.
mot a pair of cuffs in the whole
outfit, not shirt, not collar. Oh,
well, when man has to leave Bagdad
the way I did, over the back fence,
so to speak, linen doesn't count"
He drew down his cuffs, detached
and reversed them, he turned his fold
ing collar wrong-side out, and used
the under side Of the foot-rug as a
shoe poIisher. 1t was the ingenious
procedure Of a man who was used to
being out late nights, who made all
| things answer all purposes. This rapid
and singularly careless toilet COM
| pleted, he centered his concern upon
| the more vital matter of finances. He
was close to the nadir: four sover-
| eigns, a form, and collection Of bat
tered coppers that would have tickled
the pulse of an amateur numismatist
mo vintage tonight, my boy; no
long, fat Havana, either A bottle of
stout and a few rags of plug-cut;
that's the pace we'll travel this eve
ming. The United Romance and Ad-
venture Company is not listed at pres
ent. If it was, I'd sell a few shares
on my own hook. The kind Lord
knows that I've stock enough and to
spare" He laughed again, but with
out the leaven of humor. when the
fool-killer snatches up the last fool.
let rogues look to themselves; and
fools are getting scarcer every day.
"Percival Algernon! 0 age of po-
cts! I wonder, does he wear high COL
lars and spats, or has she plumbed