Cut Bank pioneer press. [volume] (Cut Bank, Mont.) 1909-current, 1914-10-02

his white tennis shoes resting against
the lower iron of the railing, a Bava-
rian dachel ~snoozing comfortably
across his knees. was a man of fifty.
He was broad Of shoulder, deep of
chest, and clean-shaven. He had laid
aside his Panama hat, and his hair
vas clipped closely, and was pleas
antly and honorably sprinkled with
gray. His face was broad and tanned;
the nose was tilted, and the wide
mouth was both kindly and humorous.
One knew, from the tint of his blue
yes and the quirk Of his lips, that
when he spoke there would be a bit
of brogue. He vas Iames Harrigan,
one time celebrated in the ring for his
gameness, his ~squareness, his endur-
ance; Battling Jimmie" Harrigan,
who, when he encountered his first
knockout, retired from the ring. He
had to his credit sixty-one battles, of
which he had easily won forty. He
had been outpointed in some and had
broken even in others; but only once
had he been "railroaded into dream
iohOy ~ uo0 lAC pal AdllC0 VI JAC 6olAiC.
That was enough. He understood.
Youth would be served, and he vas
no longer young. He had, unlike the
many in his peculiar service, lived
clearly and with wisdom and fore
sight: he had saved both his money
and his health. Today he was at
peace with the world, with three
sound appetites the day and the
wherewithal to crafty them.
Today Battling Jimmie" was for
gotten by the public, and he was
happy in the seclusion Of this forget
fulness. A new and strange career
had opened up before him; he was the
father of the most beautiful prima
donna in the operate world, and, diff
cult as the task was, he did his best
to live up to it. 1t was hard not TO
offer to shake hands when he was
presented to a princess or a duchess:
1t vas hard to remember when to
change the studs in his shirt; and a
white cravat was the terror of his
nights, for his fingers, broad and
stubby and powerful, had not been
trained to the delicate task of tying
a bowknot. BY a ~judicious blow in
that spot where the ribs divaricate he
could right well tie his adversary into
a bowknot, but this string of white
lawn was a most damnable thing.
Still, the puttering of the two women,
their daily concern owe his deport-
ment. was bringing him into conform
ity with social usages. One thing he
rebelied against openly, and with such
f1rmness that the women did not press
him too strongly for fear of a general
revolt. On no occasion, however i'm
pressive, would he wear a silk hat.
Christmas and birthdays invariably
called forth the gift If a silk hat, for
the women trusted that they could
overcome resistance by persistence.
He new said anything. but it was no.
ticed that the hotel porter, or the gar
dener, or whatever masculine head
(save his OWN was available, came
forth Respondent on feast days and
Sundays.
Leaning back In an iron chair, with
his shoulders resting against the oak,
was the Barone, altogether a differ.
emit type. He was frowning over the
pages of Bagot's Italian Lakes, and
he wasn't making much Roadway. He
was Italian to the core, for all that
he aped the English style and man.
ner. He could speak the tongue with
huency, but he stumbled and faltered
miserably ove the soundless type
His clothes had the Piccadilly cut
and his mustache, erstwhile waxet
and militant, was cropped At the cor
ners, thoroughly insular. He was
thirty, and undeniably handsome.
Near the fountain, ON the green
was a third man. He was in the aci
of folding up an easel and a camp
stool.
From a window in the villa came
voice; only a Tilt of a melody, M
words,-half a dozen bars from
Martha; but every delightful not,
went deep into the three masculin,
hearts. Harrigan smiled and pate,
the dog. The Italian scowled at tn,
vegetable garden directly below. TIL
artist scowled at the Italian.
Fritz, Fritz; here, FRITZ"
The dog struggled in Harrigan'
hands and tore himself loose. H,
went Gathering over the path towar,
the villa and disappeared into the door
way. Nothing could keep him whel
that voice called. He was as arden
a lover as any, and far more favored
"Oh, you funny little dog! Yo1
merry little dachel! Fritz, mustn't
let go!" Silence.
The artist knew hat she was cud
ding the puppy to her heart. and hi
own grew twisted. He stopped owe
his materials again and tied the bo
to the easel and the stool. and shifte
them under his arm.
"In be up after dinner, Mr.. Harr
gam" he said.
"All right, Abbott" Harrigan wave
his hand pleasantly. He was becon
ing so used to the unvarying state
ment that Abbott would be up afte
dinner, that his reply was by no,
purely mechanical. shes getting he
voice back all right; eh?"