The Lakeland evening telegram. (Lakeland, Fla.) 1911-1922, 1915-03-05

because ! maven = cH0 oe'u
frankly.
But / am quite capable Of eating
another" admitted John. you see.
during the past week my fare has
been somewhat-well, depleted"
The girl promptly rose. John Of
fered her his arm. At that moment
she seemed to him the sweetest and
most wilful, charming girl in the
world.
DO you mind my saying some
thing?" he inquired, as they sat to-
gether at q little table in the supper
room.
rs this another confession" in
quired the girl, looking at him
archly.
I'm q measure-yes," he answered.
"Since I have been here tonight l
have discovered an additional reason
for regretting that Mr. Langford 20
obstinately refused to give me an op-
portunity Of showing him the model
of my gun"
"Meaning?" the girl inquired; but
the look in the young mans eyes an
swered her. She laughed and blushed,
and then, to cover her confusion,
raised her glass Of champagne to her
lips and slipped at 1t.
Suppose he sees your gum? she
inquired.
Then I don't see how he can help
buying 1t, II he has brains in his
head instead of wheels" John an
swered. But he won't-unless he
sends me letter by special messen.
ger before ten O'Clock tomorrow morn
ing. or recalls me by wireless from
midocean, by flying machine"
But II either of these events could
happen?" the girl persisted.
"Then," answered John, gravely, Il
should ask permission to call on you.
What would you do?"
'Tr answered the girl. why, I
should say that l should be delighted
to have you meet mother"
only your mother?"
well. perhaps myself" she admit
ted.
Where would this be?"
AT number Is Edgemere gardens"
said Miss Derry. Are you making q
note Of It on your cuff? Why, you
told me 1t couldn't happen"
"Ah, but the day Of miracles may
come again." said John. Il devoutly
wish it would" he added under his
breath.
The girl looked at him, and her man.
ner suddenly changed. She burst
into a peal Of ripping laughter and
rose from the table.
well, you certainly have gratified
my wish to hear story" she said,
taking his arm. He led her back into
the ballroom And 80 this is good.
by" she asked.
"Good-by," said John, bowling. and
left her.
He went home and paced wretched.
ly up and down his little room. He
had not exaggerated when he told
Miss Derry he was penniless. He had
spent four months in England, and
they had been thrown away. Now he
must 60 back to America and begin
his life anew.
He had not thought It possible that
he, man Of nearly thirty years, could
fall in love at first sight. But he
loved this girl, and he knew that. deep
down beneath the flippancy Of her
manner, there was q nature to be
awakened by love. II only he had sue
ceeded! He knew that wealth would
be his, and with 1t the chance that
every man demands by right-to WOO
the girl he loves.
He went to bed and slept fitfully,
awaking in the could light of a foggy
November morning For the moment
the events of the past night seemed
like dream. Then his eyes fell upon
a little pink ball program, and he re.
membered his folly.
What was it but folly to have loved
when he could never see the girl
again?
He dressed and, having breakfasted
in his room, packed his things. In
half an hour he must take cab drive
through the fog to the railroad sta,
ton. He would never see London
again, or what had made the gray
old city suddenly dear to him.
Suddenly the door-bell pealed, and, q
few moments later, q messenger boy
stood before him. holding out q letter.
John tore open the envelope.
Dear Mr.. Trumble," he read,
You said that you must have q
nying machine or message by special
delivery before ten o'clock this morn
ing II you were to see Mr.. Langford.
Well. l spoke to Mr.. Langford about
you last night, and he says he is very
sorry for the delay, but he has been
intending to see you for several days
past. He says IL you will postpone
your journey he will see you at the
war office on Wednesday next at elev-
en- o'clock and give your model q full
trial.
You see, he is my uncle, and / live
with him when l am not at Is Edge
mere Gardens.
EDITH DERRY"
Copyright. 1915. by W. G. Chapman.)
Singing Bullets.