The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1914-02-20

a sad; touching story, concerned with haberdashery and trusting heart, and a fair woman-fair, but, oh, how falser'
 sProceed,'' laughed MT. -Magee. t'I'm an admirer of the vivid imagination. Don't curb yours, I beg of you"
 ssIt's all straight said the other in hurt tone Every word true My name is Joseph Bland. My profession, until love entered my life, was that city of Reuton, fifty miles from here, T taught the Beau Brummels of the thoroughfares what was doing in Lon don in the necktie line. I sold them coats with padded shoulders and col lars high and awe inspiring. was happy, twisting piece of silk over my hand to show them how it would look on their heaving bosoms. And then-she came.v
 MT. Bland puffed on his cigar.
 tfYes,' he said, "Arabella spark1ed on the horizon of my life. When [ have been here in the quiet for about two her beauty. won't attempt to de- scribe her now. I loved her-mad1y. She said made hit with her. spent on her the profits of my haber- s .F dashery. whispe She didn't scream. I had my wedding necktie picked out from the samples of drummer from Troy
 -sF'rom here on-the tear spoke of, please Thene flashed on the scene a man she had known and loved in Jer- sey City. said flashed. He did-just that. A swell dresser-say, he had John Drew beat by two mauve neck ties and purple frock coat. I had a haberdashery back of me. No use. He outdressed me. saw that Arabel- las love for me was waning. With his chamois gloved hands that new guy famed the ancient hame."
 He paused EInotion-or' the smoke of the cigar-chOked him.
 Let's make the short story shorter,'' he said. "She threw me down. In my haberdashery thought it over. was blue, bitter. resolved on a dreadful step. In the night wrote her a let ter and carried it down to the box and posted it. Life without Arabella, said the letter, was Shakespeare. with Ham let left out. It hinted at the river, oRFbolfc acid, revolvers. Yes; post ed it And them
 And then," urged MT. Magee. MT. Bland felt teqderIy Of the horse shoe pin in his purple tie.
 sThis is just between us,'' he said. '.At that point the trouble began. It came from my being naturally very brave man l could have died-easy. The brave thing was to live. To go on day after day devoid of lArabella- say, that took courage. I wanted to try it. I'm courageous man, as say.''
 'sYou seem so,'' MT. Magee agreed.
 tLion hearted,'' assented MT. Bland. <1 determined to show my nerve and live: But there was my letter to Ara bella. feared she wouldn't appre- ciate my bravery. Women are dull sometimes. It came to pe maybe she would be hurt if I didn't keep my word and die. So had to-disappear E had a friend mixed up in affairs at Baldpate. No; can't give his name. I told him my story He was impress ed by my spirit, as you have been. He gave me a key he had-the key of the door opening from the east veran- da into the dining room. So came up here I came here to be alone, to forgive and forget, to be forgot. And maybe to plan new haberdashery in distant parts.''
 ssWas it your wedding necktie,1 ask ed MT. Magee, t'that you threw into the safe when you saw me coning?"
 'tNo,'' replied Mir. Bland, signing deeply. ssA package of letters, writ ten to me by .Arabella at various times. I want to forget 'em. If I kept them on hand I might look at them from time to time. My great courage might give way. You might find my body on the stairs. That's why hid them.''
 Mr. Magee laughed and stretched forth his hand.
 Believe me-" he said, f'your touch ing confidence in me will not be be- trayed- I congratulate you on your narrative power You want my story. Why am I here? I am not sure that it is worthy to follow yours. But 1t has it's good points-as I have thought it out"
 He went over to the table and pick ed up popular novel upon which his gaze had rested while the haberdasher spun his fabric of love and gloom. On the cover was picture of very dash ing maiden.
 "Do you see that girI?'' he asked. etShe is beautiful, is she not? Even Arabella in her most splendid mo- ments could get few points from her, 1dncy. EeIudpS you are Aot 4dhAI1dE with the important part such picture plays in the success of a novel today. The truth is, however. that the noble art of fiction writing has come to lean l more and more heavily on it's illustra- tors. The mere words that go with the pictures grow. less important every day. There are dozens of distinguish 1 ed novelists in the country at this moment who might be haberdashers if it weren't for the long, lean, naughty ladies who are scattered tastefuIly through their works
 Mr. Bland stirred uneasily. 1I can see you are at loss to know what my search for seclusion and pri-