酷兔英语

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walls had crept the Harbinger. It was ridiculous,
and yet - Well, it is a rat trap, and you, madam

and sir and all of us, are in it.
Red and fat and crying like Niobe or Niagara,

Mrs. Peters threw her arms around her lord and
dissolved upon him. Mr. Peters would have striven

to extricate the dollar bill from its deposit vault,
but his arms were bound to his sides.

"Do you love me, James?" asked Mrs. Peters.
"Madly," said James, "but -- "

"You are ill! " exclaimed Mrs. Peters. "Why
are you so pale and tired looking?"

"I feel weak," said Mr. Peters. "I -- "
"Oh, wait; I know what it is. Wait, James. I'll

be back in a minutes''
With a parting bug that revived in Mr. Peters

recollections of the Terrible Turk, his wife hurried
out of the room and down the stairs.

Mr. Peters hitched his thumbs under his sus-
penders.

"All right," he confided to the ceiling. "I've got
her going. I hadn't any idea the old girl was soft

any more under the foolish rib. Well, sir; ain't I
the Claude Melnotte of the lower East Side? What?

It's a 100 to 1 shot that I get the dollar. I wonder
what she went out for. I guess she's gone to tell

Mrs. Muldoon on the second floor, that we're recon-
ciled. I'll remember this. Soft soap! And Ragsy

was talking about slugging her!
Mrs. Peters came back with a bottle of sarsapa-

rilla.
"I'm glad I happened to have that dollar," she

said. "You're all run down, boney."
Mr. Peters had a tablespoonful of the stuff in-

serted into him. Then Mrs. Peters sat on his lap
and murmured:

"Call me tootsum wootsums again, James."
He sat still, held there by his materialized goddess

of spring.
Spring had come.

On the bench in Union Square Mr. Ragsdale and
Mr. Kidd squirmed, tongue-parched, awaiting

D'Artagnan and his dollar.
"I wish I had choked her at first," said Mr. Peters

to himself.
WHILE THE AUTO WAITS

Promptly at the beginning of twilight, came
again to that quiet corner of that quiet, small park

the girl in gray. She sat upon a bench and read a
book, for there was yet to come a half hour in which

print could be accomplished.
To repeat: Her dress was gray, and plain enough

to mask its impeccancy of style and fit. A large-
meshed veil imprisoned her turban hat and a face

that shone through it with a calm and unconscious
beauty. She had come there at the same hour on the

day previous, and on the day before that; and there
was one who knew it.

The young man who knew it hovered near, relying
upon burnt sacrifices to the great joss, Luck. His

piety was rewarded, for, in turning a page, her book
slipped from her fingers and bounded from the bench

a full yard away.
The young man pounced upon it with instant avid-

ity, returning it to its owner with that air that seems
to flourish in parks and public places - a compound

of gallantry and hope, tempered with respect for the
policeman on the beat. In a pleasant voice, be risked

an inconsequent remark upon the weather that in-
troductory topic responsible for so much of the

world's unhappiness-and stood poised for a mo-
ment, awaiting his fate.

The girl looked him over leisurely; at his ordinary,
neat dress and his features distinguished by nothing

particular in the way of expression.
"You may sit down, if you like," she said, in a

full, deliberate contralto. "Really, I would like to
have you do so. The light is too bad for reading.

I would prefer to talk."
The vassal of Luck slid upon the seat by her side

with complaisance.
"Do you know," be said, speaking the formula

with which park chairmen open their meetings, "that
you are quite the stunningest girl I have seen in a

long time? I had my eye on you yesterday.
Didn't know somebody was bowled over by those

pretty lamps of yours, did you, honeysuckle?"
"Whoever you are," said the girl, in icy tones,

"you must remember that I am a lady. I will excuse
the remark you have just made because the mistake

was, doubtless, not an unnatural one -- in your circle.
I asked you to sit down; if the invitation must con-

stitute me your honeysuckle, consider it with-
drawn."

"I earnestly" target="_blank" title="ad.认真地;急切地">earnestly beg your pardon," pleaded the young
ran. His expression of satisfaction had changed to

one of penitence and humility. It was my fault,
you know -I mean, there are girls in parks, you

know - that is, of course, you don't know, but -- "
"Abandon the subject, if you please. Of course

I know. Now, tell me about these people passing
and crowding, each way, along these paths. Where

are they going? Why do they hurry so? Are they
happy?"

The young man had promptlyabandoned his air
of coquetry. His cue was now for a waiting part;

he could not guess the role be would be expected to
play.

"It is interesting to watch them," he replied, pos-
tulating her mood. "It is the wonderful drama of

life. Some are going to supper and some to -- er --
other places. One wonders what their histories are."

"I do not," said the girl; "I am not so inquisi-
tive. I come here to sit because here, only, can I be

tear the great, common, throbbing heart of hu-
manity. My part in life is cast where its beats are

never felt. Can you surmise why I spoke to you,
Mr. -- ?"

"Parkenstacker," supplied the young man. Then
be looked eager and hopeful.

"No," said the girl, holding up a slender finger,
and smiling slightly. "You would recognize it im-

mediately. It is impossible to keep one's name out of
print. Or even one's portrait. This veil and this

hat of my maid furnish me with an incog. You
should have seen the chauffeur stare at it when he

thought I did not see. Candidly, there are five or six
names that belong in the holy of holies, and mine, by

the accident of birth, is one of them. I spoke to you,
Mr. Stackenpot -- "

"Parkenstacker," corrected the young man, mod-
estly.

" -- Mr. Parkenstacker, because I wanted to talk,
for once, with a natural man -- one unspoiled by the

despicable gloss of wealth and supposed social su-
periority. Oh! you do not know how weary I am of

it -- money, money, money! And of the men who
surround me, dancing like little marionettes all cut by

the same pattern. I am sick of pleasure, of jewels,
of travel, of society, of luxuries of all kinds."

"I always had an idea," ventured the young man,
hesitatingly, "that money must be a pretty good

thing."
"A competence is to be desired. But when you

leave so many millions that -- !" She concluded
the sentence with a gesture of despair. "It is the mo-

otony of it" she continued, "that palls. Drives,
dinners, theatres, balls, suppers, with the gilding of

superfluous wealth over it all. Sometimes the very
tinkle of the ice in my champagne glass nearly drives

me mad."
Mr. Parkenstacker looked ingenuously interested.

"I have always liked," he said, "to read and hear
about the ways of wealthy and fashionable folks. I

suppose I am a bit of a snob. But I like to have my
information accurate. Now, I had formed the opin-

ion that champagne is cooled in the bottle and not by
placing ice in the glass."

The girl gave a musical laugh of genuine amuse-
ment.

"You should know," she explained, in an indul-
gent tone, "that we of the non-useful class depend

for our amusement upon departure from precedent.
Just now it is a fad to put ice in champagne. The

idea was originated by a visiting Prince of Tartary
while dining at the Waldorf. It will soon give way

to some other whim. Just as at a dinner party this
week on Madison Avenue a green kid glove was laid

by the plate of each guest to be put on and used while
eating olives."

"I see," admitted the young man, humbly.
"These special diversions of the inner circle do not

become familiar to the common public."
"Sometimes," continued the girl, acknowledging

his confession of error by a slight bow, "I have
thought that if I ever should love a man it would be

one of lowly station. One who is a worker and not a
drone. But, doubtless, the claims of caste and wealth

will prove stronger than my inclination. Just now
I am besieged by two. One is a Grand Duke of a

German principality. I think he has, or has bad, a
wife, somewhere, driven mad by his intemperance and

cruelty. The other is an English Marquis, so cold
and mercenary that I even prefer the diabolism of the

Duke. What is it that impels me to tell you these
things, Mr. Packenstacker?

"Parkenstacker," breathed the young man. "In-
deed, you cannot know how much I appreciate your

confidences."
The girl contemplated him with the calm, imper-

sonal regard that befitted the difference in their sta-
tions.

"What is your line of business, Mr. Parken-
stacker?" she asked.

"A very humble one. But I hope to rise in the
world. Were you really in earnest when you said

that you could love a man of lowly position?"
"Indeed I was. But I said 'might.' There is the

Grand Duke and the Marquis, you know. Yes; no
calling could be too humble were the man what I

would wish him to be."


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