The county record. [volume] (Kingstree, S.C.) 1885-1975, 1917-11-29

DOy WHO WIS U4AiSCi'AN iedoihS ths
morning paper outside her door.
Cedelia's head ached, and the din
and clamor of the riveters resound-
ed across the big yard that divided
the office building from the foundry.
She was surveying the framed pho
tographs of Meade locomotive boil
ers that hung on the buff tinted
walls when there came tap at her
door.
"Come in," she said.
The door opened and admitted a
man tall as Cedelia was herself. He
was the handsomest man Cedelia
had ever seen, with a strong, intel
lectual face lighted by deep gray
eyes. In turn he gazed at Cedeia,
who happened to be the most beau.
tiful young woman he had looked
upon, and as he parted his lips to
address her there fell upon the air
the most horrible din imaginable.
It sounded as though hundreds
of riveters were banging away at a
score of boilers, and probably that
was the case. Speech was impossi-
BILE, and Cedelia put pretty white
hands up to her shocked ears, and
the strangers handsome brows knit
ted in frown.
Suddenly it stopped. 81 ann
began the stranger, but the noise
began again and drowned his words.
Three times his voice was lost in the
chaos of sound, and then, when the
two of them stood helplesslv laugh
ing at each other, the din ceased.
ave must put a stop to this sort
of thing" said the man decidedly.
"Then YOU must be Mr.. Craig,
said Cedelia, holding out her hand
and quite forgetting all about the
Meade Craig feud.
"I am, Miss Meade, and dropped
in to see how the treasurer is getting
along. If there is anything I can
do to help you along-but Pm afraid
I don't know much about it myself
so therew
T don't know anything and con-
fess l haven't the slightest desire
to-" remarked Cedelia. "What does
a schoolma'am know about making
boilers?"
"What does poet know% COM
planned Oliver Craig.
"a poet? Are you poet?" ask
ed Cedelia, interested at once.
He smiled ruefully. "My friends
say so, but my enemies declare it is
not true"
"Oliver Craig-Oliver Craig-ah,
Oliver Craigland! That is the name
you use?" Cedelia sat up suddenly,
her cheeks very pink, her brown
eyes shining with delight. As be
nodded assent she continued: "Oh,
what are YOU doing here when you
can write such beautiful verse? The
world needs all of such poetry that
you can write"
"Thank you. That is the SINGER
est praise l have ever received" he
said earnestly. "Funny idea, isn't
it-that of a poet working in boil
er factory"
When they had stopped laughing
Cedelia and Oliver Craig had seri-
GUS conversation, the result of which
was that both the president and the
treasurer of the Meade Boiler works
decided to employ competent private
secretaries who, under the tutelage
Of the very efficient Mr.. James,
might take the cares of office from
their unofficial hands.
Thus the business went on In Its
methodical, conservative manner,
losing nothing, gaining nothing. Ce-
della was at her desk each day, con-
ferring with her secretary, learning
a little more about boilermaking and
hating it intensely.
One June morning, when, even
into the boiler foundry there crept a
smell of summer weather, Oliver
Craig strobe into Cedelia's Office,
dismissed the astonished secretary
and closed the door.
"Cedelia," he said, taking her
hands in his, 81 love you. Will you
marry me and sell the boiler shop
and come with me to Already? It is
june" he pleaded. 'Wil you
Gomez"
Before Cedelia could answer there
arose that frightful din from the
foundry. She said something in re-
ply, but Oliver could not hear. Then
she looked at him with her loving
eyes and in spite CT the clamor OF
boilers, Oliver had his answer.
scanty Ammunition.