The Pleasantville press. (Pleasantville, N.J.) 1912-1929, 1919-03-01

BLIND EYES

BY IVAN GRAHAM.
Mcclure Newspaper Syndicate

q wife and three children it was just
his luck to meet the loveliest girl he
had eyer seen.
1t was early morning, n h golf
links we're deserted. Only the grace
full figure of a girl swinging a club
broke tnA tranquil peace of the scene.
Jim Hartly, as he had registered at
the hotel, advanced toward her. He
raised his hat.
you'll pardon me, MISS" he said,
"but l guess you came out for much
the same reason hat l did-to get a
breath of fresh air. Doctors orders.
Shall we play a round together?"
The girl seemed o to resent his
aggressiveness, however, for very soon
they were tramping together over the
great open stretch.
This was only the first of their early
morning games. After the second or
third they began to grow confidential.
]. Hartly was enjoying himself i'm
mensely.
Sometimes they would sit for a while
on one of those mounds of sodded
earth called so appropriately bunkers,
and tell each other all about them
selves. Jim was a bond salesman in
Wall street, with a snug little flat in
the Bronx and a wife and three chill
dren.
The girl was a stenographer and en-
larged to the listening Jim on the
Ho,+ocN,;o- af 1o, boss +ha jonor
ment manager. She also had a beau,
and tentatively showed the little ring
that ornamented her third finger. Jim
was here for his health. She on vaca-
ton.
1t was not until James Hartly For
dyce was back again in his sumptuous
apartment in New York that he fully
realized how deep his friendship with
the girl had gone. They had not eX-
changed addresses and the incident
was closed. Fordyce was regretting
the wife and three children. That had
been a little artistic touch of his own
to help carry out the Illusion and drive
from his tired brain the thoughts that
would come surging within him.
But how he missed those sunlit
hours or the open turf with the chum-
my little s~tenographer as his partner!
There was no use denying it ever to
himself he felt her loss more than he
could have imagined.
Fordyce was sitting in the conserva-
tory when his hostess discovered him
and led him forth 'to the slaughter"
1t was the night of the Vansittarts'
ball and he had ensconced himself
among the screening palms and banks
of blooming dollhouse flowers for a
quiet smoke.
Nov, Hartly," Mrs. Vansittart said
IN finding him, you shall not NOPE
there all evening" And she literally
dragged him out from his hiding place.
He was duly presented to various
blushing debutantes, whose names he
inscribed on his dance card.
And now l must introduce you to
my niece from Boston.
&, Betty, let me present Mr.. Hartly
Fordyce, the famous novelist. Hartly,
my niece, Miss Barstove."
Fordyce bowed before the girl at the
Introduction, but there was no
acknowledgment on her part. She
drew herself up.
"Auntie," she said in ice-cold tones,
this man is an impostor. He's not
Hartly Fordyce. He's James Hartly,
q bond salesman. He has q wife and
three children.
MY dear child!" The amiable hos
tess fairly gasped.
Eyes" went on the girl inexorably,
II was playing golf at Paxton before
| came on to you, auntie dear. This
man was there. He told me all about
himself"
Mrs. Vansittart turned from one to
the other speechlessly.
ALAS; it's too true" broke in For
dyce. 81 am a bond salesman with a
wife and three children. And she," he
indicated the pretty girl with a deep
sigh, she's a stenographer."
This was too much for the elder
lady. She looked as though a fit of
apoplexy would cut the proceedings
short.
what is the matter with you two?"
she stammered at last. "Hartly! Bet
tyl Are you mad?"
The two impostors stood one on each
side of her. Their eyes met. Then
twin merry peals of laughter foated
cross the ballroom.
"Oh, auntie," laughed the dimpling
girl, cts been such a joke! You see,
| recognized him the first time I saw
him. Why. I've seen his photograph
in the papers a dozen times. l guess
ed he was just pretending so as to
avoid publicity"
"But-but you, Betty, a stenograph-
er? What does it mean?' The dear
lady was bewildered.
"Oh, %auntie, you don't suppose | was
uoino to Iot him do oil tho fooli0C do