Life — March 25, 1899 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

“ She stopped short then she sav Mr. Graves, and colored furtousty.” “Good morning,” answered she, in such a wistful way that he forgave her rudeness on the spot, and smiled reassur- ingly at her as he left. Exulting at his success, he reached his room, ‘Now what shall I do with it?” he murmured, as he placed it on the table. “*A remarkably fine specimen,’ the doctor said. No doubt, no doubt. Theo- dore Graves always could give points to an Apollo. T’ll take a good look at it.” 8o saying, he raised the curtain, letting a flood of sunlight into the room, and unwrapped the jar. Good heavens! What was this? Surely that was not his leg? Mr. Graves looked closer, and then fell back help- lessly into a chair. He had taken the wrong jar. Long he sat there, and gazed stupidly at the thing. What should he do? It would never do in the world for it to stay in his room. What if someone should find it there! And he a respect- able, middle-aged bachelor! Full of agony at the thought, he started up, and concealed it hastily in his wardrobe. Not until the key was turned did he breathe easily. The thing must be re- turned; but how? At length he deter- mined upon a bold move. He would return it that night and get his own. At midnight a dark figure might have been seen gliding ulong the village streets in the direction of the doctor's office. It was Mr. Graves. The night was beautiful, The moon shone brightly, but Mr. Graves did not pause to note its beauty. No watch was kept in the peaceful village, and the inhabi- tants had long since retired to rest, but he proceeded with caution. The office was in a low, one-story building, opening directly on the main street. In the rear was a window, and to this he made his way. The window, with the carelessness that characterizes the dwellers of rural communities, had been left unlocked It was an easy matter to raise it and crawl inside, but to the law-abiding Mr. Graves the thing seemed fraught with risk and danger, so that it was some little time before the feat was accom- plished. At last it was done. Breath- less and triumphant, he placed the jar on the table and sank into a chair to recover himself, At this moment there was a grat- ing in the lock of the outside door. Great heavens! Could anyone be coming? What would be thought should he be fcund there at that hour of the night? Mr. Graves glanced around wildly for a place of concealment. The table! He dodged under it just as the door opened and a dark figure entered. It moved cautiously. The door was closed gently, and then the figure glided quietly across the floor to the closet, unmindful of the open window. Mr. Graves almost gasped aloud in his surprise, It was a woman. The woman tried the closet door gently, and then with more force, but it did not yield to her efforts. With a moan she sank into a chair, and exclaimed, despairingly: “ Why didn't I think of that! It’s locked! What shall I do?” The voice went through Mr. Graves like an electric shock. It was that of the lady whom he had met in the morning. A light broke in upon his mind. It was—it must be—Miss Patience Cooper, bound upon the same errand as he. ** Ma'am,” said Mr. Graves, softly, looking out from under the table. The lady uttered a slight scream, and arose in alarm. “*Don't be afraid, ma'am; it’s only me,” and Mr. Graves issued from his place of concealment as gracefully as possible, sublimely unconscious of that slip in grammar, ‘Perhaps we can help each other.” ‘The lady was silent from astonishment. Mr. Graves advanced boldly to the closet, and, producing a screw-driver from his pocket, proceeded to remove the lock with the air of a professional burglar. “There!” he said, in a sepulchral whisper, opening the door with a flour ish, ‘* Now we must be quick.” He took down the other jar, and placed it beside the first one. “This is your—your—" Mr. Graves paused in some embarrassment, and then went on boldly as he unwrapped the jar. “ This is what you came for, isn’t it?" **Ye-es," assented the lady, timidly. “« Is—is—does that one belong to you?” “Yes, ma‘am.” “Then you must be Mr. Graves.” “Graves, yes. Theodore Graves, at