The Washington herald., 1914-07-20
DAILY SHORT STORY.
FATE AND THE BENCH.
BY GRANT OWEN.
ICourirht lslll

At the moment Billy Ackroyd could
not have told what II was that induced
him TO sit down on that bench. He
wasn't in the habit Of sitting on benches
in such places as was this little park
in the center Of the square. with its
sorry, dusty trees and its little fountain
spouting noisily into the iron basin.
But II was a warm evening, and the
show had been so bad Billy bad left
In the middle OF the second act. and ne
knew just what diversion he might eX-
pect to find in bare hotel room. and.
anyway. it always made him rather for
lorn and lovely to come back here. So
he had started out for a walk when
he came out of thes theater, and cross
ing the little park in the square. the
bench had seemed to beckon him and ne
had sat down.
There was a little screen Of shrubs
behind the particular bench he occupied.
And beyond it was another bench. Billy
couldn't see It but he could hear voices
OF the occupants on IL. He did not in
tend to eavesdrop. but the little square
was very still, the Chug OF an infre-
quent motor. the plash OF the fountain.
the faint stirring OF leaves in the breeze
were the, only sounds.
No" said q girls voice. NO, I
can't"
answered-a mans voice. a young mans
voice. There was some thing eminently
likable about that voice.
There was moments silence. Then
the girls voice said: You'll write me
very, very often. won't you?''
Irwas some seconds before the mans
voice replied. 1t was hard and not Who'll
ly steady.
Il shan't write you at ALL" it said.
There was a little hurt cry.
why not?" asked the girl
You know very well why I won't"
said he. Il have told you tonight that
you had a chance to show how much
faith in me you have. You are always
prating about the faith you have in me
Well. then, prove that you have by mar
rying me and going there with me"
Billy Ackroyd. feeling Ike a man
caught peepinG into Windows. arose and
started to tiptoe away. And yet he had
no taken six stealthy steps when he
paused, stood irresOlute for a moment
and then sneaked back to the bench.
This time his guise was frankly that of a
a listener. He leaned far back on the
bench with his ear close to the screen
ing shrubs. II was plain he did not in
tent to miss a word.
mo, I can't marry you and go with
you" said the girl. You haven't"
And this is your faith in me-" the
man interrupted her bitterly. You want
me to 90. You say II is a splendid chance
for me. You say I'll make good. And
yet you won't take the chance Of my
making good and come with me-
Il can't" she persisted. After you've
been there awhile"
Billy heard the man laugh. 1t was
not wholly pleasant laugh.
"An right" said he. I'm glad to know
Just what your faith in me is. Listen,
Agnes! II you won't marry me and go
with me I-I-well, we'd better call il all |
on. ] want you to have faith in me. !
need your faith in me. now more than !
with me, / shan't write-and-I shan't |
see you again. Now, will you go?"
Billy could heard plainly the little |
choking sound from the girl. He knew
well enough just how her fingers were |
twisting themselves together; just how |
her lids were dropped low to cover her |
eyes and the tears in them. There was |
quite a long pause this time. Billy strain |
ed his ears to catch her answer. 1t /
came presently-hrmly. yet with a catch |
in the voice that made Billy Ackroyd |
Vince.
mo" said she II can't go. John.
You must go alone and make good first !.
and"
There was a scrapIns of gravel as IL
some one had jumped suddenly and an
grlly to his feet.
Then goodnight and good-by!" said
the man.
Billy heard very firm and decided foot
steps moving away on the other side OF
these shrubs. Suddenly he jumped up
frrm his own bench and darted around
tile bushes. He almost bumped into a
scowling young chap making for the
main path. Billy caught his ann
Tl,- l
perdon me- said Billy. This isn't any
business OF mine, I'm quite aware; but
happened to be sitting on this side Of
those bushes and I heard you 1nd the
ady talking and-weu, You mustn't do