davidaulloa/AmericanStories huggingface dataset:
The Irish standard., 1913-03-29
M0[L|E LOVED HIM
And He Loved MoIiie, So Her Con.
fession Was Not Such a
Terrible Thing.
BY DOROTHY SHAW.

1t was the second evening before
their marriage. All the arrangements
had been completed and for a brief
hour the lovers were alone together
at the home Of the bride-tobe.
Are you quite reconciled to marry.
Ing the daughter of rich man, dear
est" asked Mollie Greaves, nesting
up against Walter Barrett, her flance.
Just think! II you hadn't been so
proud. Walter, we could have been
married two years by now"
And where would my self-respect
be, Mollie?" asked Walter. II love
you with all my heart, but l could
hardly live as . pensioner upon my
wife, could II"
But, dearest, surely your love for
me Is stronger than your PRIDE" urged
Mollie
well, but now 1 shall have you
and keep my pride too" he answered
II always knew that some day my
pictures would be snapped up. Wal
lis, the dealer on the Avenue, has
been offered thousand dollars for
that seascape of mine and"
He broke of suddenly, for there
were tears In his BRIDES eyes.
What is 1t, dearest" he pleaded.
"Have said something to hurt you!"
NO." she sobbed. But, Walter, I
have been deceiving you these two
years. o. Walter. do you remember
telling me once that no matter what
] had ever done or ever could do it
would make no difference in your
love for me?"
Surely, Mollie. Come, what is It'll
Somebody you once thought you were
in love with and haven't told me
about? Never mind, you don't have ia
The Irish standard., 1913-03-29

they were just father and me. Wal.
ter. And every picture that he has
bought he has given away. That
splendid painting at the Metropolitan
hospital. for instance, was presented
by father. on the understanding that
his name should not be made public.
And your Old Man on q Doorstep
which you thought so highly of-that
was given by father to the public
school on Thirtieth street and not
bought by them. And SO with every.
thing. II it wasn't for father, Enoch
would still be paying you $25 apiece
and you wouldn't have made anything
more than you used to do. And now
know that things are back Just
where they were two years ago. and
/ oughtn't to have told you, but
couldn't marry you with lie in my
heart, Walter. So kiss me once aud
then I will leave you and not see you
again until-why. Walter!"
He was bending over her and laugh.
ing, and the kiss that he gave her
did not seem In the least like q fare.
we'll kiss, but rather harbinger Of
many kisses to come.
walter! You aren't going to leave
me? You are going to forgive met"
Mollie whispered incredulously.
Walter sat down in his chair again
and drew her on his knee and kissed
the last of the tears away.
Now you listen to me, Mollie, and
don't you interrupt me until l am
through" he began. "Of course II l
had known Of that little trick l should
have been extremely angry. But 1t
has helped me in more ways than you
imagine. In the frst place. this CIV
Ing away Of my paintings to hospitals
and schools has advertised me and
created demand for my work"
YES" breathed Mollie.
"And only last Friday was in at
Wallis's and he said to me: 4 wish
you wouldn't give all your work to
Enoch, Mr.. Barrett. Why don't you
let mo have some Of it?' So told
him that had made years contract
with Enoch to give him 30 many pic
lures and that couldn't break 1t. And
what do you think? Well. IL hadn't
entered into that arrangement I should
have been able to dispose of my work
ut just about twice as much again
and IL my pictures hadn't been dis.
persed throughout the city ] could
have a collected exhibit this winter az
Wallis wants. So that you and my
respected fatherin.law to be have de-
priyed me of just about half years
income"
"Walter!"
Five thousand dollars. and I'm go
ing to get it back from you"
"How?" asked Mollie. smiling.
"One dollar apiece" answered Wal
ter. Give thousand kisses at com
pound interest, doubling themselves
In five and twenty years"
Copyright. 1913. by W. q. Chapman.)
The Irish standard., 1913-03-29
First Derby In 1890.

All England Is at present talking
over the coming Derby, in which
there are several American entries.
This famous stake was instituted
by Lord Derby in 1880 and takes
places on EPSON Downs in surry,
England. 1t is generally run on the
Wednesday in the week preceding
Whitsuntide, the fifteenth day after
Easter, which il the second day Of
the meeting.
The Derby, which is run over a
course of one and one-half miles, is
at present stake Of $4,000, Of which
$4,000 goes to the winner, $4,000 to
the nominator Of the same. $1,000 to
the second horse and $1,000 to the
third.
EPSON Downs is a small market
town. where races were first estab-
lished in I'LL. The grand stand at
the course there was built in 1929 at
a cost Of 100000, and accommo.
dates $500 persons seatsd
The Irish standard., 1913-03-29
Lloyd George. First Marrow Escape.

Lloyd Georges First Marrow ,eeeape.
Mr.. Lloyd George will never die
from ennui. The suffragettes will see
to that. But it is interesting to recall
how his life nearly ended abruptly
when he was year old. He was seiz.
ed with Group one winters night at
Haverfordwest. where his parents
lived. and his mother had to hurry
through the snow to ind doctor. He
arrived when the baby was almost at
his last gasp and barely succeeded in
pulling him through the attack.
Many years later at Cardiff tho Same
doctor came up to the present chan.
cellor Of the exchequer after q meet,
Ing and told him Of this incident, add.
ing that as he went home that win,
ter's night he had wondered whether
1t had been really worth while to save
the baby's life, since there was no
prospect before the baby but the life
OF an agricultural laborer.-London
Chronicle.
The Irish standard., 1913-03-29

ing eyes, and then her father rode of
on business to a station twenty miles
north. while Ruth reentered the
house, singing like lark.
!: Well she might. for this was the
very happiest day of her life. Before
the evening was over she expected to
welcome her lover, Rodney Morse.
How she loved him! How tender and
true he had BEEN! A month previ.
GUS he had gone back east to sell out
his interests there and take up q
ranch, with Ruth as its mistress.
1t must have been half an hour later
when there came; a timid tap at the
door. Coyote Pete, his threadbare
cap in his hand, stood on the step in
an humble attitude.
'Why, won't you come in?" asked
Ruth in her usual cheerful, generous
way. you look tired, and-perhaps
hungry" she insinuated gently.
mot this time. Miss" replied Pete.
"You see your father don't welcome
me very heartily. and 1 don't want to
intrude. But you're the only critter
on the range ever takes time to give
me bite when need it, and l want.
ed to do you folks good turn. Your
father wouldn't listen to me after I'd
tramped twenty miles to give you Q
warning"
IA warning?" repeated Ruth vague
ly.
II understand your young man and
some friends are coming through on
the stage this EVENING""
'Why-yes," replied Ruth slowly.
"Well, overheard two half-breeds
down on the Taylor place talking
early this morning, planning to join
two other hard characters, hide be.
tween here and the railroad, and hold
up the stage coach. They know some
strangers are coming, and you see
strangers are taken as free picking in
this district"
In moment Ruth became alarmed
Within quarter of an hour she and
Pete had arranged to outwit the ban.
dts. His plan was to take the one
horse left on the place and start down
the trail to meet and warn the com.
ing stage coach. He had been gone
two hours when the horse ne had
gone away with came back riderless
Instantly Ruth was on her mettle
She could only theorize that the ami.
NAL had thrown Pete, or that he had
met the bandits. She quickly buckled
a belt about her slender waist, sprane
TO tho saddle. and was soon on tn
The Irish standard., 1913-03-29
1hinoa Mloht Ae Worse.

Don't kick because you have to but.
ton your wife's waist. Be glad your
wife has waist, and doubly glad you
have a wife to button a waist for.
Some mems wives have no waists to
button. Some mems wives waists
have no buttons on to button. Some
mems wives waists who have but.
tons on to button don't care a CONT.
mental whether they are buttoned OF
not. Some men don't have any wives
with buttons on to button any more
than q rabbit.-Camden Advance.
The Irish standard., 1913-03-29
stared at him: he might have been q
hwlI So NJ

stared at him; he might have been q
bridegroom of for his honeymoon.
Ten minutes later he was seated in
his car, watching the flying landscape
rs the train steamed through the
pleasant country on its way toward
the little Pennsylvania village.
It was q six hours run. Croft's heart
was beating fast when at last, we'll
toward shutdown, the train slowed
down and ran into the little station.
He left his suit case at the station,
directing that 1t should be sent up to
the house where he had been born.
The little tumble-down cottage had
long been empty, for his parents had
died since his first departure, but rea-
sons Of sentiment had prevented Croft
from selling 1t; besides. he had al
ways resolved one day to return there
to live. He made his way down the
village street under the long shad-
ows Of the elm.
It was long street, and before he
had reached the end the sun had set.
The gracious twilight Of spring shroud-
ed all things in mystery. The place
had not changed at ALL He might have
been returning thither from college.
All sense Of the intervening years had
left him. At last he was standing at
the bottom of Mildred's garden.
Mildred" he called.
Then his heart pounded violently in
his breast as he saw slim figure in
a sunbonnet start out Of the house and
move toward him with the old, leis-
urely grace. And SO she passed be.
tween the borders Of towering lilac
and at last stood before him. Why,
this was his Mildred, unchanged
we'll, hardly changed, and not at all to
him. He knew now that he would love
her until he died.
Mildred" he cried, and then he
had clasped her in his arms and her
heart was beating against his own.
And for long time they forgot every
thing, save that they two stood there
together as they once had done.
John, DEAR" she whispered, raising
her head and looking into his eyes.
Mildred"
1T has been all q mistake, hasn't
1t? It was the city that killed our
love. Dear, you don't know how hap
py your letter made me. If we could
always live here together!"
Dear" he said softly, II want you
to know one thing. always loved you.
Sometimes, when we were least hap
py. fancied that there were two
Mildreds-my wife and the sweetheart
who came from Clayton to marry me
five years ago. But now they are
both one and we will live here togeth-
er and start our married life anew"
Copyright, 1918, by W. G. ChapmanA
The Irish standard., 1913-03-29
HE LISTENED WHEN TOO LATE
short-Tempered Old Gentleman ln.i
sisted on Silence, and Result Ia .
creased lrritabllity.

At q recent literary gathering
Charles Garvice. the we'll known now,
elist, told story Of an irritable old,
man who hurried into a barber shop
one afternoon.
Addressing tho man he found In
charge, he snapped: II want you to
cut my hair, and do 1t without talk
ing. I can't bear to have . barber
talking to me while he's cutting my,
hair"
Eyes. sir" was the reply. "but you
see"
There you are!" broke In the old
gentleman. "You want to start at
once, and you'll cackle.cackle all the
time. know you and your tribe.
You cut my hair and hold your
tongue
yes, sir; but I should like to tell
you-"
And don't want to listen," retort-
ed the old gentleman: ''just you cut
my hair, and don't talk"
but surely, sir. you'll allow mo
to say"
II won't allow you to say anything"
snapped the other. don't want to
listen to you. don't suppose you've
got anything to say that don't know
already. Your business 10 to cut my
hair and hold your tongue, and I'll b
obliged II you'll make . start" ::
The old gentleman glared dehsutly.
pumped into the chair and shut his
eyes as sign that he wouldn't hear
another word. The badgured man, with
an air Of desperation. grabbed Q pair
OF scissors and set to work with
them. When the operation was finish
cd the old gentleman srunted, opened
his eyes and stared at himself in the
glass. Every remaining hair ON hts
head Quivered with Indignation and
horror.
Call that hair cuttins!- he shout
ed. why. its dissracefully done!
1t looks as II 1t had been gnawed
by rat! DO you call yourself q
barber? You're no more a barber
than ami"
mo. sir: you're right at last, sir!"
roared the man In reply. I'm 4 pork
butcher from round the corner. and
I'm only taking care Of the shop while
the barber has gone out for his tea"
-PearBon's Weekly.
The Irish standard., 1913-03-29
A FRONTIER HEROINE
Her knowledge Of Outlaws Meth
DDS and Quick Work Prevent
ed Stage Coach Hold-Up.
BY AUGUSTUS GOODRICH SHEER.
WIN


WIN.
"You had better get out Of here, II
you don't want trouble
I've got something to tell you. II
you don't want trouble yourself. you
had better listen to me-"
What! Threatening me, are you!
vamose, or I'll quicken up that dog
trot habit of yours considerably. Git!'
and Martin Bayne made a run for the
doorstep where his rife lay.
With detected air, but quite
sprightly, ragged, limping Coyote Pete
fastened his steps from of the Bayne
domain. He had disappeared by the
time its proprietor had turned around
ready to carry out his threat. Bayne
shrugged his shoulders and resumed
tightening the girths of his horse. He
had acted brusquely for good reasons,
he told himself. It was the frontier
Montana rule. To his way Of think
ing Coyote Pete and his ilk belonged
to the rubbish heap. so he had made
short work of him.
why, father, wasn't that rattle,
rude?" inquired his daughter, Ruth
stepping through the doorway. She
vas pretty as a picture. Her sleeves
were rolled up, and her shapely arms
showed dimpled and smooth. Her long
!: neat apron was fiecked with flour, fol
this busy maid was both mistress and
cook Of the lonely Bayne home.
"Rude!" repeated the ranchmar
carelessly. cts the only way to treat
such cattle as that. There isn't 8
worse loafer on the range. He's beer
wire-cutter, raider, and is a begga,
when he isn't on the verge of the de
lirium tremens. It's all your fault
his coming here. You encourage hin
by giving him q snack whenever hi
takes the fancy to wander by, ant
now he's making a regular station
of it. I'll be back before midnight
Expect your company about dark
don't you?"
II think so; I hope so," replied
Ruth with a quick blush and brighten
The Irish standard., 1913-03-29
POSED AS PATRIOT MEAeHER
Chance Resemblance to Popular Irish.
man Turned Out Well for Young
English Diplomat.

There is a story, appropriate to st.
Patrick's day, about Henry Labou-
chere. 49, ...s.. ..,..
while an attache of the British en-
bassy, young Labouchere one day
turned UP, hungry and penniless, in
New York. At noon, with his usual
reckless daring, he entered a Broad
way chophouse-one Muldoon's-and
ordered a modest meal. But he had
no idea how he would pay for this
meal. Perhaps he would leave his hat
or boots in pledge for it. As he pom
dered the matter, he noticed that the
walters, who were staring at him odd.
ly, were all Irishmen. Were the wait.
ers aware Of his lack of funds? His
luncheon seemed strangely long in
coming. But just then a waiter bent
over him and whispered:
II beg pardon, sir, but are you the
patriot Meagher?"
Now, Meagher, Labouchere knew,
had aided Smith O'Brien in his Irish
rising, had been deported to Australia,
and had escaped thence to New York.
The ready young man, in answer to
the walters question, put his forefin-
ger upon his lip. "Hush," he muir
INJURED. And he looked round the
room cautiously.
It was at once felt that Labouchere
was the patriot Meagher. And SO the
choicest wines were set before him.
and, in place Of the modest chop he
had ordered, a luncheon Of nine or
ten elaborate courses was brought on.
At the end, lighting one Of the es.
adjustments finest cigars, Labouch-
ere demanded his bill. His waiter
smiled, retired, and soon came back
with a big. handsome mantle pro-
prietor himself. The proprietor, bend.
ing over the youth, said earnestly:
From one like you, sufferer in
the good cause, can take no money.
1t has been a privilege to serve you,
sir. Permit brother patriot to shake
you by the hand"
And Labouchere shook hands with
the proprietor and with the dozen
walters and stalked forth into the cold
world with the stern, sad, but indo-
mitable look which it seemed to him
that an exiled patriot should wear.
The Irish standard., 1913-03-29
Buried Upside.D Down.

On Box Hill, in Surrey, England.
may be seen the tomb Of q man who
was, by his own special request,
buried upside.down in CONN placed
in a marble casing. With his head to
the earth and his feet to the sky, he
calmly awaits the Judgment Day, so
the story runs, in the belief that heav.
en- is, under the ground, and that, be.
lieving this, it was his duty to be
baried with his head towards It
The Irish standard., 1913-03-29
LIFE IN THE CITY
Rush Of Work, Sordid Struggle
and Cramped Quarters Kills
Romance of Life.
BY ISABEL JONES.

John Croft had written to his wife
and dropped the letter down the mail
chute. She had been gone three
weeks. but she had communicated
with him twice during that period SO
that the breach between them was
not irrevocable. That morning her
second letter had come, and now that
he had answered it he took it up and
began reading it again.
Dear john" she wrote. II have
been thinking good deal during our
separation and have come to the
conclusion that neither of US is so
much to blame for our disagreements
as the other thinks. 1t is our life in
the city, John, the rush of work. the
cramped quarters, the killing Of the
romance Of life by the sordid struggle
for existence. John, shall We try
again and see If we ca9not be kinder
to each other?"
John Croft had come to the city
form the country, like so many coun.
try boys, burning to make a name and
fortune in the field where the prizes
are immense but the struggle acute.
No mercy is given on that battlefield.
He was twenty then, and Mildred
Carter had told him that she would
wait for him, II need be for ever.
They had been sweethcarts for three
years and neither had been in love be.
fore. And Mildred waited, though the
wait was long. Year by year John
Croft had struggled vainly, hopeless
~, until his sudden recognition came.
Then he had married. And that was
five years ago and though success
seemed certain he was not yet out of
the press of that remorseless battle.
John fell to musing upon Mildred.
He remembered her as she used to
walk shyly by his side to church;
he thought Of those many lovely hours
In the old town, where their homes
Rdjoined; of stolen kisses at even, of
ell the thousand and one things that
lover recalls. How fond of each
other they had been! Then came his
married life, begun happily, but gradu-
ally embittered by misunderstanding.
The Irish standard., 1913-03-29
Began Reading It Again.

Mrs. Croft was a country girl and
life in the city had been hard on her.
And there had been no children.
And ever the memory Of Mildred
Carter swept over him like flood
tide, and by that sweet memory he
had tried to live and fought down
the rising bitterness in his heart.
At last his wife and he had resolved
upon temporary separation. It was
not to be permanent; they were too
sincerely fond Of each other to dream
Of anything like that. Rather it was
to be period Of adjustment in which,
each, alone, could examine his and
her heart and see wherein the Of
tense lay. Then his wife's second let
ter had come, in which she had dag.
nosed the trouble accurately. It was
not their love which was at fault, but
the conditions Of their life, and love
must be strong enough to overleap
those artificial barriers.
But Mildred! John Croft had never
ceased to dream Of his first love. II
those years could be wiped out orce
more! He saw her now as he sat
musing in his study, passing down
the village street, swinging her sun
bonnet; he saw the shy, quick glance
that she would cast up at him. He
had those letters that she had writ
ten to him, breathing SO many hopes,
In the drawer of his desk. He had
never destroyed those; they were
sacred to him.
His wife would not return for three
days. Why, then, should he not go
to her, to Clayton, the village Of their
birth, and see her as she was now, re.
call the thousand memories Of their
love, steep his soul in those passion
lte memories which would encourage
him to take up the burden of life
anew? He sat down at his desk and
wrote her a letter of thousand en-
dearments. He was coming back to
Clayton, he said. Would she meet
him just at the place where they used
to meet, at the bottom of the garden
dividing the two cottages? And would
she wear that sunbonnet? And would
she forget the years that had escaped
and pretend that they were boy and
girl together again in Clayton?
No sooner had he posted that let
ter than the plan became overwhelm-
Ing in it's insistence. He, thrust q
few things into his suitcase. descend
ed in the elevator, hailed a taxicab,
and was on his way to the station. He
was singing as he entered the broad
marble portals. The ticket agent
The Irish standard., 1913-03-29

ran. feeling that time was very pre-.
cious and haste urgent.
Dusk had come on, but there was a
clear, full moon. Ruth had gone
about twenty miles, when at bend in
the road she drew rein promptly near
some high bushes.
A flicker Of light, like that Of a
match. suddenly flaring in among some
heavy timbers ahead, had attracted
her attention. Ruth tied the horse
and began a detour Of the vicinity.
Within Ave minutes, true daughter
Of the frontier that she was, she un-
derstood the situation completely. She
had viewed four men smoking and re-
clining in a natural hide.out. It SEEM
ed that during some. recent storm a
large tree had been bent over and
half uprooted by the force Of the
wind. The roots had been partly
broken, but in sinking back to its old
position the top Of the tree had
caught under the heavy branch Of an
other tree hundred feet distant. This
held the inclined tree as in 4 wise,
but at tugging tension.
In the hole formed where the roots
had given way the men Pete had de-
scribed we're hiding awaiting tho com
ing of the stage coach.
Ruth crept cautiously around to the
spot where the top of the tree was
caught. Her experienced eye told
her that this, once released, would
shoot back to its original position
with catapult force. She had a long
sharp knife in her belt. She climbed
the smaller tree and endeavored to cut
through the limb that held the larger
tree captive. For nearly an hour shs
hacked and clipped Suddenly in the
distance she heard the echoing boots
Of the stage coach horn saluting some
lonely mountain cabin She could see
the men In the tree hole getting ready
to rush out when their anticipated VIC
times came within sight.
"Oh, must hurry! hurry" breathed
Ruth ardently, In breathless excite
ment, and renewed her endeavora
with redoubled ardor with blistered
bleeding hands.
R-rip-snap--crash! Like strick,
en- giant rising from the dust, the
great tree at last tore free from ita
letters. There were shouts of dismay
and frantic yells Of pain as the root.
sank back into place, shutting the
baffled plotters into sure prison.
Again the winding horn. Ruth
ran out into the road. She stood in
it's center, a statuesque and heroic
figure in the white moonlight. The
stage coach came to a stop. Her lover
sprang out, and Ruth was enclosed in
his loving arms.
It did not take long for Ruth to ex.
plain. The driver and passengers
managed to dig away the sandy loan
from the disturbed tree roots. Crush.
ed and subdued, the outlaws were
dragged out and secured. Ruth had
saved the passengers injury and her
lover the little fortune he carried with
him. ...... ,-.
They searched for Pete, and found
him where the horse had thrown him.
His head had struck stone and he
| was unconscious
| Long before the wedding, the out
laws were convicted. Then Pete be.
came the handy man about the Morse
place, where his greatest satisfac-
ton seemed to be to enjoy the loving
happiness Of Rodney and his frontier
bride.
Copyright. 1918, by W. G. Chapman.)
The Irish standard., 1913-03-29

If worst comes to worst it's best t.
make the best Of Il.