The Glenwood post., 1912-06-22
Her Curiosity
Shop
Copyright. 1912, by Associated Lterar,
Press.)
By Jean Dickerson

Elsie was glad to leave the stufry
sunshin. of Madison square. She
paused for an instant and hesitated.
Up in the little hall bedroom that
she called home in lieu of a better
one. there was pretty cotton frock
to be finished if she expected to wear
il on Sunday. Every afternoon for a
week she had hurried home TO sew.
and every stitch must be made by
hand-and yet there was another and
stronger call that turned her feet
toward Fourth avenue. Elsie Chaplin
yielded to the last call and went.
Perhaps it was laughable that a
quiet little dove-like stenographer
could find delight in poking about
among the secondhand shops of
Fourth avenue after a day spent in
transcribing dull business letters ON
Gathering typewriter. 1t was true.
however. Whatever of color and ro-
nance came into her lonely life was
furnished by the multitude of lovely
and curious articles in these antique
shops.
There was food for fancy in the an
cient pewter dishes and the willow
pattern china; a chair that had be-
longed to some long dead parsonage;
perhaps a bedstead upon which royalty
had slumbered in a distant land; tall
clocks that had marked the days Of
forgotten lives: an empty jewel cas-
ket; a piece of rich tapestry-there
was a story in every article. and Elsie
Chaplin had learned to read each one.
This afternoon she hastened her
steps until she reached the particular
shop that she called her own. The
attendants had long ceased to be sus-
picious of her lingering there among
the treasures. Perhaps they read in
her rapt and dreamy eyed abstraction
the truth of her coming. 1t was not
the articles nor their value that she
craved-it was the story she read in
each one.
Sometimes one of the attendants
called her attention to some newly
acquired article, always assured of her
interest and appreciation. They could
not know that in the days before her
unfortunate fathers failure in business
anu SuDStIueHl uSalh, hau
been many treasures In her own home.
She was alone now and, perforce, con-
tent with looking at the belongings of
other people.
There was an ancient escritoir with
a fascinating number OF pigeon holes
and secret drawers that attracted Ell
sic this afternoon. She was standing
there, wondering If within some still
concealed compartment there might
not be a bundle of old love letters
tied about with a blue ribbon which
would fall to pieces at a touch. There
might be withered rose or a wrinkled
little glove, some relic of a bygone ro-
nance.
From her dim corner behind the
escritoir Elsie was reused to look to.
ward the front of the shop where the
proprietor was in conversation with
slender, dreamy-eyed young man who
was holding a violin to the light.
at is an Amati!" protested the
young man.
"All violins are Amati or Stradivar-
ly. "Mr. Spohr, I will give you 800
for the instrument. If I buy it | am
taking a risk | do not like to handle
musical Instruments"
The MUSICIAN bent his head over the
beautiful violin. He passed tender
hand over the satiny wood, flicked
string that vibrated with almost hui
man melancholy and then laid the in
strument in its case.
1T is yours for that price," he said
quietly, but Elsie read in his tone de,
spair and almost agony at the parting
with an instrument that was doubt.
less his means of livelihood, for Spohr
was rather shabbily dressed and thin
and pale, as though he were recover
ing from some long illness or had
been insufficiently nourished.
Elsie's tender heart was wrung with
pity at this little tragedy being en-,
acted before her. Many times she
had read tragedies and romances in
the antiques of her curiosity shop.
Now she was witnessing a real heart
breaking drama.
Fascinated, she saw the proprietor
count out roll of bills to the violin
list, and triumphantly bow out the de-
jected young man.
BY the time the proprietor had re-
turned to the violin Elsie was stand.
ing beside him.
This is for sale?" she asked qui.
etly.
He nodded. you saw that young
man."
"Yes-I heard what was said," she
returned.
"You did" He frowned HE ia
Spohr, the violinist. He has been sick
In the hospital and must have money
SO he sells me this-I am taking a
chance, of course" he said, looking at
her under his beetling brows.
"You mean 1t may be poor instru-
ment?"
Again he nodded ut may be a