Life — October 21, 1897 — page 8: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

The Other Man’s. HE Stranger was wander- ing disconsolately about one day. Suddenly he chanced to cross the threshold of aroom. He had been in it many times before, but somehow, just now, it seemed to have a changed appearance. Rare and trivial objects were standing side by side; useful and useless bits, but all bespeaking a woman's gentle hand. Many of them he could not recall as having seen before. At first he thought the room unoccupied, but a second glance revealed to his astonished vision a youth in strange garb—the strangeness lay in the lack of it. And who are you?” he asked, with an air of proprietorship. The youth smiled. Tam Love,” he said. ‘*Is there anything I can do for you?” : “Why, you and I must have taken possession together,” said the Stranger, irrelevantly. Love did not answer immediately. “Very often I take up my abode in these ‘Heart-Chambers’ without the knowledge of anyone,” he replied at last; ‘ sometimes even against the con- sent of their owners.” The Stranger apparently did not pay much attention to his words. He was looking about him curiously. “Why,” he exclaimed, ‘‘ what is this? I do not remember her ever having shown it to me.” “ That,” said Love, ‘tis a memory of her childhood. Be careful how you touch it. It is as fragile as the butter- flies she used to chase with her little bare feet.” “And this?” asked the Stranger, moving to the next object. “Is a summer flirtation. You see it is encased in this bit of rock—the one they used to sit on; and that shiny sub- stance over it is the moonlight they used to watch, covering all the sea. It’s rather a pretty toy, but she sets no value on it now.” *LIFE: “Then why is it in her collection?” asked the Stranger, jealously. “It is here to make up the whole,” answered Love, and he smiled at the man’s flushed face. The Stranger heaved a sigh of relief as he picked up a baby’s shoe. “ This?" he asked. “That,” said Love, a new note of sadness stealing through the music of his voice, ‘that once belonged to her little brother. See those strange marks upon the turned-up toe—those are her tears, Put it by carefully—she holds it very dear.” Love left him for a minute; when he returned he placed a key in his hands and led him to a cabinet, delicately in- laid. “Open it,” said Love; ‘tit belongs to you, and everything therein; to you and her—jointly.”” The Stranger knelt before it. “Why,” he exclaimed, delightedly, “here's the faded rose she dropped the night I met her, the one! picked up. Strange, too, how it came here,” he added. ‘*I always carry it in my left- hand pocket.” Love smiled. ‘And here; why, no, it can’t be—yes, it surely is the ring I gave her last New Year's Day, when she promised to be my wife. And—this? What is this curious thing? It’s pretty, but—" “That,” said Love, ‘tis the kiss you gave her last Christmas Eve, under the mistletoe, in the shadow of the stairs. Don't you remember?” “Remember!” the repeated, scornfully. ‘* What do you take me for? Why, the memory of it was my meat and drink for days. After a little he rose and walked toward the door. On the threshold he paused. In the far corner he espied a heavy curtain, wrought in dull gold. He crossed over to it quickly, but Love was before him and stood defiantly barring the entrance, “What is behind there?" asked the man. “That I cannot let you see,” replied Love, sadly. ‘*But I have a right to know every thought and action of her life. I—I—" ‘* Be content,” said Love, ‘‘to know that now and for the future she is wholly yours.” The Stranger stood silent. “My friend,” Love said, ‘ everything man in this sanctuary of her woman's heart is yours—save this. This is her holy of holies, and I alone am the high priest. Here you may not enter.” “ But this rich curtain ""—the Stranger spoke gently—' may I not know—" He paused, “Was worked by Memory,” substi- tuted Love, ‘‘and the shining lustre of its gold threads has been softened by the hand of Time.” And the Stranger bowed his head as before a shrine. Maud Howard Peterson. Richard Croker. HIS gentleman—one of the highest types of the genus politician (U. S.)—has a face that is well worth considering. The deep lines of polarity from the corners of his mouth upward indicate dyspeptic tendencies, and he should be careful of his diet. Crow is the best thing he can eat. The Semitic curve to his nose indicates great busi- ness ability, and with him it is a com- paratively easy matter to build up a for- tune without doing a day's work. The lines of the mouth indicate a melancholy temperament, due to flocking too much with himself of late, and the Van Wyck beard and French Ball cast of features betray a lack of harmony. He has sporting proclivities, but would not make a good elephant tamer, and will not succeed in partnership. His star of health is not strong in these latitudes, but exhibits its greatest influence in old Lunnon. He-should leave this country at once, where he is not appreciated. He has marked acquisitiveness, much caution, great destructive powers, and would make a good burglar or congressman, There is little hope dis- played, but great veneration for some things is shown in the height of the cranium. His language is limited, but usually understood by the boys. This is his second reincarnation. Under Rameses II. he kept a policy shop, and learned to do others as they would do him. He is now in his second circle (or ring), but this is fading gradually. He will live to a ripe old age, loved and respected by all who do not know him. His favorite war-cry is: “ George, George, Vote for George ! Siss, boom, ah ! Tiger!” comichooks.caup