The Lakeland evening telegram. (Lakeland, Fla.) 1911-1922, 1914-06-30

i. bit snml1 n WN \
have something
more than mere romance which al
ways seems somewhat intangible to
me-moonlight and summer nights
and the frivolity Of things"
Yes. but we men forget easily.
interrupted Davids, checking what
promised to be . voiuble discourse
on the philosophy OF romance as inter.
preted by Forde-"it's the women who
feel the iron In their souls. and who
live on and love on. and die with the
wonder Of 1t undiscovered"
Quite true" remarked Deming.
who had hitherto been silent and alb.
stracted: and will tell you of just
such . case"
Somehow all present felt that some.
thing was forthcoming.
Boys" he continued quietly and
with an odd depth to his voice, we've
been good pals, all Of us, and alone
have been reticent and secretive-now
I'm going to show my hand.
when was twenty-five / was
rather unlike most men at the same
age. My life had been, and was, COM
posed Of outdoor sports, and getting
ahead in my fathers business-ma-
king good the name he had left me.
Women to me simply did not ex-
list. Just about then came my one
serious illness-typhoid-and / was
beastly low, nurses and specialists,
and vile treatment, and all that, and
finally a tedious convalescence, bright
ened only by the unobstrusive but un-
firing attentions of my housekeeper.
"One day when I was learning the
use Of my limbs again, / was saunter-
ing about the house, and in the H.
brary CHANGED upon a book left
there. Presumably the housekeeper
had been reading it.
"The book contained some closely
written sheets of paper, and how I
came to read something not for my
eyes ! shall never know, but read
them I did. 1t is that letter that
makes the love of q woman forever
impossible for me. I carry 1t with
me always" his hand rose tentatively
to his breast pocket. THAT letter."
he resumed, laid bare Q woman soul
the very quintessence Of woman.
hood-all the fierce tenderness, the
sublime unselnshness. tho glorious
self.abnegation Of the love Of q wo-
man for the undeserving man. As I
read I knew that the writer OF that
letter was the ono woman In the
world for me.
And I felt, for the nrst time in my
esotistical, selfsuflcient career.
strange doubt q curious abasement.
THE following week I was to de-
part south further to recuperate, and
you may believe my departure was .
reluctant one.
In the interval my housekeeper
was slightly indisposed with what
eventually developed into typhoid, and
she must have felt some slight amaze
at my assiduous attentions and de-
lightful affability. l was positively
amorous with my floral donations.
Well, as l say, l went south, and
had been gone nearly a month when
was called home by a telegram,
saying that my housekeeper had con-
tracted typhoid and had died. AS
she seemed to have no one to make
the necessary arrangements, would
come at once and attend to things
myself"
Deming paused. and selected fresh
cigar with punctilious care.
L arrived home" he resumed, "and
found that the old doctor had done
everything, and that the funeral was
that night. disliked death as being
morbid, and therefore an undesirable |
factor in my thoroughly well.balanced
makeup.
However, l decided to go in and !
pay my last respects to one who had !
served me well. She looked cliet
and quite at peace. Around her throat
was a slender gold chain with me-
dalton attached Careless hands had
laid 1t wrong side up, and, bent over
her and turned 1t over"
The cigar glowed fiercely red for
an instant, then Deming said very
low: /
MY picture was in it. aud una.
meath the name AMI the date in Lei.
That's all, boys. All night sat
gazing at her, this woman WIZ rad
lived in my house for seven years. IN
whom I had bestowed some brief
Of conversation c. IN coca
sional appreciatiye git; this women
loved too late. whom / might never
touch-who would never know-trv-
ing to make reparation 10 the dead
for the blind stupidity l had shown
the living.
In her dear, still face read the
pitiful story-her hopeless love-her