The Chickasha daily express. (Chickasha, Indian Territory [Okla.]) 1899-current, 1918-01-12
HOW He MET HER
BY J. H. LIE ROY.

copyright, 1917 oy the Mcclure Newspa
per Syndicate) slie
Joseph was avery constellation
young man. AS a boy he had bee
known at baseball to dispute The d,
cision of an umpire in his favor. Eve
the ordinary SOCIAL lines were repe
liant to him.
With such character there was ont
one thing that the young man coul,
ultimately become.
Shortly after he became a reviewe
of fiction for the Sun 1t happened tina
he met Florence. Florence was a joll,
Southern girl, and had at comparative
ly early age been left an orphan. /
was shortly after Florence had becom,
a governess that she and Joseph met
Her face was wholesome and practica
rather than beautiful. For some weeks
he never told her his love. Then one
afternoon he took her to hear an ora
torio. 1t may have been the effect OF
the music or Of the tea anc toas. at the
Eastman cafe afterward, or of the long
ride to Baltimore over the Washington
pike.
The fact remains that when they
climbed into the touring car he called
her Miss Bordeaux, and when they
parted at the end Of the journey he
called her Florence. One night there
was an air of mystery about her.
Shortly" she said, "you will see me
In new light, Joseph"
81 would not have you different
said Joseph.
East side of Mount Vernon bridge,
about six tomorrow" said Florence.
fright" said Joseph.
The next morning there was brought
to his room large parcel of novels
from the Sun. He groaned, because
they meant work, and even the reading
of novels is not pleasant if you are
paid for it.
He tore his mind away from romance
In real life and settled down to ro-
nance as it is written, and the very
first volume that he picked up was en-
titled "ihy Love of Bygone Days" by
Florence Bordeaux. This, then, was
the new light in which Florence was
to appear. She had written novel
and he was to review it.
He wondered if the editor of the Sun
would stand an entire column about
an unknown genius. Joseph almost
regretted that he had discovered three
unknown geniuses the week before; it
was likely to spoil the market.
kIe noticed the name of the publish
ers with regret. Florence would have
done better to have consulted him.
Then he read the book, and buried his
face in his hands, for that novel by
Florence Bordeaux was about the most
putrid thing in fiction that had polluted
his chambers for the last IS months.
1t was wrong everywhere; it was
wrong all through. There is no worse
thing on earth than a bad historical
novel, and this was a very bad his
torical novel.
Here, then, was conflict between love
and duty. Duty was scratched and
love walked in. BY the evening he had
written a column hailing Florence Bor-
deaux as the greatest genius that the |
century had yet seen. But his heart |
was broken. For once he had not been !
He could not live with |
that stain upon his soul. So he de
terminGd to meet Florence on Mount |
Vernon bridge, take one long, last fare
well, then send off the review and then
leave town and his growing reputation
as literary critic forever.
Florence was little late for her
and looked very pleased
with herself.
"Well," he said, ''why did you moi
cOnfide in me? Why did you not tell
me you had written a book? Possibly
my prnctlced judgment might"
"What on earth are you talking
lbout? 1 have not written any book
[ shouldn't be so silly"
"Then some one else with your name
las."
HAS she? What cheek" She still
aughed at Joseph, somewhat inquir
ngly. He mad an uneasy sense that
'he was expecting him to say some
hing and that he was not saying it.
"Well," he said, "what did you mean
hen, by saying you were going to ap
,ear in a new light?"
"If you happen to be blind" she
answered rather snappishly, Il cant
1--WE you new eyes !"
Don't be cross, dear. Let's see-iti
he same jacket you always wear, ant
he same skirt"
"Oh, don't bother. I've got my hail
lone differently, and I've got a new
at | don't want to talk about it. Il
ou take no interest in my appearance,
here's no more to be said.'
The rest Of his interview with Flor
nee was far more pleasant. But Jo
eph's column review of the novel BY
er namesake was reduced to two lines
n the subject of literary rubbish.
And he was stiH conscientious.