fortunate girls, who, from neces sity, falls into the clutches of the concert hall stage. I met her in New York during a carousal with some college chums. She asked me to come and see her.
I did. She told me all about herself—her life, I grew to pity her; pity of the dangerous sort. She was so young and pretty. She fell in love with me and finally I with her. She said I must marry her, that her life depended upon it, that I was the only soul who could save her from degradation. I told her I would and God knows I tried. Then I told the boys. How they pleaded with me—told me I was making an irreparable mistake, that I was only infatuated, that it was all, all wrong. They told me that I was throwing my life away, wrecking my whole career. But I wouldn't listen to them. I ran away and married her. We went West and for a few years were happy. I was with her always. She didn't want me to leave her. I didn't want to. She was extravagant, wanted everything, bought everything. We traveled. We had a baby, a little girl, Cosette—a dark brown hair and large brown eyes. The little one you saw on my knee tonight reminded me of her. When Cosette was ten she was a beauty, and she loved her papa. She took piano lessons and used to play for me. The last piece I ever heard her play was a simple arrangement of the Miserere Il Trovatore. It was my favorite. I never hear it played but that my memory carries me back to Cosette—my dear little Cosette. My money grew less—I knew it was going, I realized it all. But I loved Lorraine and I loved her baby. She knew it. She saw the money going. I saw that she didn't care. I wasn't blind. I realized it was the money she loved and not me, but I loved her and she knew it; she knew she had me. I took to gambling—for her—for Cosette. I played in luck and came our way ahead. She got it—she got it all."
He walked up and down the room, never taking his eyes off me. Great beads of perspiration stood out on his forehead.
"And then—then the end came. There was a large jack-pot. I had won it—won it fair and square They doubted me. I had been too lucky. He tried to shoot me but I was too quick for him—I killed him. Yes, I killed him, and I would do it again. I tell you I loved Lorraine; God only knows how I loved her. She could have what she wanted as long as I lived. She could have her new dresses, diamonds, anything. I was tried sentenced—ten years in the penitentiary. I felt it was coming. I knew the end must come. It was inevitable, but I loved her. She got a divorce and took the child. I expected it. I wasn't surprised. I wore my stripes for her. I am a convict, man—a convict. Can't yon detect the shuffle?"
As he walked up and down before me, I saw what he meant—the infernal lockstep.
branded. The world knows him and every one gives him an additional kick. My term was shortened to five years. I tried to get work. I couldn't, 'He's an ex-convict, people said. 'He's a dangerous man.' I changed my name and managed to get a position at last. I worked two years and was getting along fairly well. I tried to forget—to be more respectable. One day they heard I was an ex-convict, that I had been in the penitentiary. Then I was discharged. The old world's just a little unjust my friend. I started out again. I couldn't forget Lorraine and Cossette; guess I didn't want to; I don't now. They left me. I'll leave them alone. I only hope they are happy. I changed my name again and started a little business of my own. I am making a little money; I have about three thousand now. But I can't forget Lorraine—I just can't. I have taken to drink; there is a temporary relief in that at least. My mind has become deranged; I know it. I am no fool. I am down here for my health—my health mind you. Think of it,' and he began to laugh, a loud hysterical laugh. He tell on the bed and burried his face in the pillow, still laughing.
"That stays with a man always—always. There's no getting away from it. A convict's
I was an hour calming the unfortunate man, and when I did succeed in quitting him, he lost control of his mind.
I walked with him to get a little fresh air. In passing the theater he suddenly stopped; a woman was singing. "Listen," he said, "do you hear? Lorraine used to sing, but much better than that." Then we went home.
The next morning I could not find him. He was not in his room and no one had seen him. I looked for him all day. Late in the evening, in passing The Oaks, I heard someone playing the piano. It was the Miserere from I! Trovatore. It immediately recalled Whitely so I stopped to listen. At the top of a long flight of stairs leading to the hotel veranda, was the figure of a man. He had not heard me. I made a noise on the steps—he did not move. He appear to be on his knees and listening to the music. I went up to him. It was Whitely. He was dead. A bright light was shining in the parlor, and the curtain was up. Seated at the piano was the daughter of the concert hall singer. It was she who was playing. I heard the rustle of silk amp the mother appeared at the door. "Cossette," she said sharply, "Cossette, I thought I told you never to play that piece."
The latest example of the school boy in the throes of literary composition is interesting. He was asked to write an exercise on the chicken. "The chicken." he wrote, "is a bird with two legs, one on one side and the other on the other. Its food is what you give it, but it sometimes eats worms and little stones because it cannot see quick enough. When it grows older it will lay eggs, if it lives long enough, but sometimes they don't. Eggs are full of meat the yellow part is the meat, the white is bone and other articles. This is all I know about the chicken."
"God Smiled When He Put Humor into the Human Soul and Said-That is Good."
--charge of the boat, gave the command: "Let go the wench!" meaning the drum upon which the cable is wound. An old colored mammy on the ferry was somewhat startled but managed to say: "No, no, honey, do'an you worry. Dey hain't nobody touchin' me."—X.
Notes, on the falling dew, of eye
Are pleasant notes to lover's ears?
But notes on the eve of falling due;
To me, to whom the notes belong.
And who, not getting them, will sue.
Arc not so pleasant by a sight.
-X
X
"Three of May's husbands have been named William." "Yes, she's a Bill collector."charge of the boat, gave the command: "Let go the wench!" meaning the drum upon which the cable is wound. An old colored mammy on the ferry was somewhat startled but managed to say: "No, no, honey, do'an you worry. Dey hain't nobody touchin' me."—X.
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She—Miss Withers says she's just in the morning of life. He—I fear the dear girl didn't sleep well.
On Tennessee street, near the Phi Phi house, there is an accomodating keeper of a boarding house, who advertises:
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Board, with privileges, Ladies requesting to "put me on a flat iron" will be put on at once—X
Lady(to conductor)—Are there any seats left?
Amiable Student — Hic—have one on me!—X.
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"Faith,Mrs. O'Hara, how d'ye till them twins apart."
"Aw 'tis aisy—I sticks me finger in Dinnis's mouth, an' if he bites I know it's Moike."—X.
أ
"She was in a collision and had all the enamel scraped off her wheel."
"How lucky she was! If she'd taken a header she'd have had the enamel scraped off her face." —X.
"While I was up to the city I smoked some cigars that cost three for a dollar."
E.
"Good gosh! Did ve,though?'
"Good gosh! Did ye,though?" "Yep! Got the three of 'em by playin' a slot-machine a dollar's worth."—X.
ر
The Lawrence Gazette tells a story of the soldiers who operated the emergency ferry across the Kaw. Lieutenant Stickle, in
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She was an amature artist, and like most of her kind, imagined herself several laps in advance of the average amatur. She was eager, however, to know how her work would impress one of the masters, who had managed to grasp fickle fame by the back of the neck.
One day a real painter called at her home and she immediately conceived the idea of putting up a job on him. She would show him a specimen of her handiwork but would reveal nothing that might lead him to suspect her as being the creator thereof.
So the fair amature proceeded to steer the real painter up against her master piece.
"Of what school would you call this painting?" she asked expectantly.
"Of the boarding school." promptly replied the real painter; and a large dark spot suddenly appeared in the brilliant future of the fair amature.
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"You have b-broken the p-promise you m-made me!" "Nev'r (hic) mind, m'dear; I'l (hic) make you 'nuzzer one."— X.
MEN'S SUIT ELEGANCE
WE beleive that there is not a man in all Lawrence, who would not be delighted with one of the Suits we show at $15.00 or $20.00.
Forget the price for a moment and you'll think these Suits worth far more than we ask for them.
If ever Suits were worth the money, these $15.00 and $20.00 Suits are.
Cheviots, Home Spuns and Worsted Cassimeres cut as the best merchant tailor would cut them.
Bring Your Suit Troubles Here
for we are here to show as well as to sell, and as willing to do the one as the other.
OBER'S.
The One Priced Clothiers.
NEW SHOE DEPARTMENT NOW READY.
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