Mineral Point tribune. (Mineral Point, Wis.) 1869-1938, 1918-07-04

the house. Sometimes there were
weddings or receptions, dinner par
ties or even little dances in the apart
ments, and then abby's eyes would be
even brighter than usual and her
pulses would quicken as she felt the
proximity Of SO much merriment and
gaiety.
one Of the personageS TINT came un-
der her constant observation was
young Yates Barlow. To her he seem
ed, as the owner of all this grandeur.
veritable modern prince. Whenever
he came to the apartment he stopped
and chatted with her in rather shy
but friendly way, asking vague ques-
tons about her work.
After each of his chats with Abby
Yates Barlow WAS more than ever
convinced that she was overworked
Not that she ever gave any indication
of this state of affairs by anything
that she said. But how could a
charming girl like Abby, he thought
sit for nine monotonous hours making
connections for thoughtless tenants
without feeling overworked?
Yates took to calling up the apart
ment on mythical business matters
just to make sure that Abby's voice
sounded as fresh and unfagged as ever
Then spring came. After hard
week Mt law school. Yates was getting
ready one Saturday morning To motor
out to weekend house party in
the country. The day was one of
those warm and tempting days that
sometimes come so early that they
seem to be out of season. All his boy
fSh hatred of indoor work made Yates
look forward to the two days in the
country with enthusiasm. And then
he thought of Abby-country bred
Abby-uSed no doubt to wandering
about the fields and hillsides at will
tied TO that mOnotonouS switchboard
"I'll stay home myself" thought
Yates. That girl certainly deserves
Saturday half holiday. | can't ask
any of the elevator boys to run the
switchboard, but I can do II myself
ana / am gong to-
Yates concocted hurried telephone
excuse TO his hostess and then with a
light heart started uptown to Kings
Castles. He could visualize the happy
smile that would come into Abby's
eyes when he told her that she could
take the afternoon off. He looked for
ward, too, with no small pleasure to
the ten or fifteen minutes of instruc-
ton that he knew must take place
while she showed him how to work the
switchboard
"And if | do make mistakes" he
thought, "and the tenants get mad.
nobody can fire me-"
He got up to the apartment house
about eleven o'clock and found Abby
as fresh and smiling as ever.
81 have nothing to do this after
noon, Miss Sarter," he began, land It's
such a corking day I thought perhaps
you'd be wanting an afternoon on. So
| thought I'd stay here and run this
switchboard and you could have a
little vacation. I don't just know how
but | think maybe you could show me
couldn't you?"
Abby looked at him in amazement
'Why, | don't want a vacation. Mr.
Barlow. ] couldn't possibly do any
thing that would give me as much fun
as running this switchboard"
but | mean a chance to go some
place-out in the country, you know
or something like that" said Yates.
"But I've lived In the country all my
life. Mr.. Barlow. And ths-she waved
her hand inclusively about the spacious
hall-this is so wonderful. I should
think just to own place like Kings
Castles would make you happy"
Barlow looked at the girl before him
with new interest. For months he
had been growing fond Of her but
mixed with his liking there had been
feeling of pity that she should be
forced to do uncongenal work. Now
he felt new admiration for her. She
was doing the work she liked and
getting a full measure Of happiness
from each day at the monotonous
switchboard. "Just to own place
like this"--her words rang in his ears.
Well, why shouldn't she own Kings
Castles7 He could give 1t to her for
wedding gift If that would make
her happy He knew now that Il was
Abby who could make him happy and
perhaps he with Kings Castles thrown
in could make her happy.
"Well," said Yates, "let me stay
with you this afternoon, anyway, and
let's go some place for dinner together
I'm going to ask you If you'll help me
run Kings Castles all your life7"
Screw Bores Its Own Hole.
Evidently Charles D. Woodward. Of