Marion Marlowe in Cleveland, or, The Mystery of the Red Rose — page 5: what you’re looking at

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

2 “Well, what should he call me?” asked the young girl, demurely. “I am as yet unmar- ried, and that is what I was christened.” “Pshaw! You know well enough what I mean! He should have said, ‘My Adored One,’ or ‘My Angel!’ All mash notes begin that way. I ought to know. I’ve had al- most a dozen!”’ “A pretty good record in one week, Alma,” said Marion, laughing; “especially as you have been playing stepmothers and adven- turesses and maiden aunts principally. But do go on, Alma, and read the chap’s effusion. If the commencement astonishes you, I want _ to see what you will say to the ending.” Miss Allyn clasped her arms around her knees, so as to keep her balance on the foot- stool, and then proceeded in a dramatic voice to read the rest of the letter. - ““You will doubtless be surprised to re- ceive this letter, but take this word for it, my dear girl, there are greater surprises in store for you!’ “Well, I should hope there were,” com- mented Miss Allyn, as she turned over the page. “There’s nothing in a mash note to — make one’s heart stop beating; but—hello, what is this? Why, Marton, the man is crazy !” She half rose from the ottoman, but Mar- ion placed her hand on her shoulder. “Go on and finish,” she begged, eagerly. “Read it all out loud! I want to see how it sounds! If it is worse to hear than to read, you'll have to send for a doctor.” “There is a bottle of smelling-salts on the table, and some beef tonic in my bag. Brace up, my dear, and I'll try to finish.” “‘T shall be at the theatre every night of your stay in this city, and upon each occasion I shall wear a blood-red rose. If you do not smile upon me the third night, I shall blow up the theatre. Believe me, for life or death, a believer in the avenging of unrequited af- fection!’ MY QUEEN. “Well, of all things, Marion! fellow is a loon! Why, the lll give this note to the police at once, and have them look out for his joblots.”’ , “IT thought of that,” said Marion, holding out her hand for the letter, “only there is a postscript on the back that makes me think it is foolish.” She turned the and then handed it back. Alma Allyn glanced at it, and read the words slowly. letter over, ““T am not the only admirer that you have in town; neither am I your only or your 9... 33 worst enemy, Miss Marlowe. Alma Allyn’s brows knit into a deep frown. The postscript-was certainly more extraordi- nary than the letter. “Well, I hope there is a lunatic asylum near here,” she said, finally; “for of all the cranks [ ever heard of, he certainly takes the bakery.” There was a tap on the door as she fin- ished, and Miss Ellis, the imgénue of the company, entered. ‘Rehearsal at two o'clock, girls! Are you ready?” she began, and then stopped short, when she saw their faces. You look like a couple of spooks!” she said, hast- ily. “Have Dr. Brookzs and Mr. Temple de- cided to fight a duel, or do Miss Marlowe’s “What in the world has happened? bones begin to tell her that we are on the track of more tragedies?” . » | “Yes; what is it, Miss“Allyn?” chimed in another voice from the doorway, as Mrs, Burnside, another member of the cast, came ‘in, leading little Ruby, her pretty daughter. Miss Allyn passed over the letter for them both to read. It's a fake of some kind!” ex. “As like as Just take my advice, and smile on every fellow in “Pshaw ! claimed Miss Ellis, laughing. not it is some one that knows you! =e a ae a - ECOMMICOOOKS.€O©