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Kansas University Weekly.
post. There ought to be let into the sidewalks at intervals of half a block, tablets of brass or marble, and instead of entreating gentlemen not to spit in a given place these ought to be mandatory and objurgatory in the highest degree. To call such ofienders gentlemen, and request their polite forbearance in a matter of such mere elementary decency, is too comical. I suppose I shall hardly live to see some offender of this sort arrested, and given his choice of cleaning up his filth or going to jail, but posterity may have this pleasure.—W. D. Howells in Harper's Weekly.
The White Carnation.
Archie had been hanging around Miss Carrick's for a long time—ever since before the company had been playing in New York—so that nobody was surprised when he appeared toward the beginning of their last evening.
Miss Carrick was ready for her first scene sometime before her cue. She had sent him word she would be, so Archie, yellow-haired, well-groomed, and graceful, threaded his way through the bustle and dust and confusion of the flies to the star's dressing room. He was good to look upon this nonchalant boy, who carried himself with such a fine scorn.
As for Miss Carrick you would turn to look at her, wherever you met her. Tall, dark, flashing, with supple curved lips and commanding eyes, she was a woman who you would imagine, ought to wear a profusion of red roses. But Miss Carrick loved white flowers, she said, and Archie wore a white carnation in his button hole.
As he made his way toward her dressing room, the door opened and the manager came out. "Of course," he said, turning on the threshold, "It is hardly my business. His father wanted him 'untangled' as he phrases it, and wrote to me about it. I will simply turn the letter over to you."
Miss Carrick was breathing quickly and her eyes flashed either from anger or pain, it was hard to tell which. "It's none of his business," she said "what the boy intends to do. He makes me out a —." "Oh come now," put in the good-natured manager, "Of course his father was interested. You understand—."
"Good evening, Mr. Mason," said Miss Carrick coldly. Then she closed the door.
Mason walked off with his hands in his pockets whistling, and Archie looked interestedly after him.
"Somebody's father wants him sent home, evidently," he said to himself. "I don't see why she should be in it, however. But it's none of my business," he concluded, as he knocked at the dressing room door.
"Is that you, Archie?" asked Miss Carrick's voice from within.
"Yes," answered Archie.
"Well," she said slowly, and her voice had a peculiar strained quality, "You may come in, I think."
Miss Carrick was superb that evening. She swept on the stage with a dignity that was regal, and the fire, passion and pathos of her acting carried the audience off its feet. Again and again she was brought before the curtain by the enthusiastic throng. At last the manager was obliged to announce that the star was very much fatigued and could respond to no more recalls.
It was through a flutter of congratulation and excitement that Miss Carrick gained her dressing room. Her maid had denied all visitors with the statement that the star wished to see no one that evening.
Miss Carrick paused a moment at the door as though getting courage to face some unwelcome thought, then erect and palely smiling she opened the door and passed within. The room was perfectly empty, but in the center of the floor lay a crumpled white carnation.
TAD.
This fine spring weather has a tendency to cause the poetically inclined student to fill his scratch tablet with short verses.