Marion Marlowe in Washington, or, Meeting the President — page 18: what you’re looking at

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16 much doubt if the President will attend the ball.” Marion looked relieved, and a deep sigh followed the ‘opinion. She was actually frightened at the anticipation of such an honor. ‘He may ‘look in,’ as the Prince of Wales used to do, you know,” went on Miss Allyn, “but I fancy the ball is more of a general jollification, intended for the friends of the President, to work off their superfluous en- thusiasm. He will probably stay at the White House and receive distinguished call- ers. I hope to goodness he will, if it is mak- ing you nervous, dearie.”’ “Well, I’m sure I don’t wish him to stay away on my account,” laughed Marion, “but, honestly, Alma, I do not care to see him, His letter is quite as much as I can manage. I think I would feel positively insignificant if he should ever thank me in public.” “Well, the friends of the President don’t think that you are very insignificant,” said Alma, proudly. “They think you were a brave girl to tackle that fellow. Why, he might have shot you in the excitement of the moment.” “Rar better to be me than the President of the nation.” said Marion, dreamily. Her head had sunk a little lower, and she was fast drifting into dreamland. \“Poor girl! She’s tired out!” whispered Miss Allyn, softly, as she took a coverlid from the bed and laid it over her companion. Then she went back to her chair, but did not seat herself, for some one tapped on the door and she tiptoed across the room to open it. “Where’s Marion?” began Bert, but Miss Allyn stopped him with a gesture. The next minute the young man drew back into the corridor and nearly bent double with laugh- ter, “Well, of all things! from the President himself_to escort Marion to the White House, and she is sound asleep Here’s a delegate and totally unconscious of the honor. Wake her up, quick, Alma, and get her into her ewell togs! She mustn't miss this! Why, it will make her famous!” | Miss Allyn elanced back into the room MY QUEEN. where Marion lay sleeping, and an anxious look crept into her face. “T hate to disturb her, but, of course, I must, she said, softly; then she crossed the room again and touched Marion on the shoulder. : “Tl tell him she is coming,” cried Bert, as he darted away. “It will never do to keep the delegate in suspense.” Marion awoke with a start and listened m wonder as her friend told her. She could hardly believe it possible that the President had sent for her. : “Hurry, Marion! Hurry!” cried Miss Allyn, as she began overhauling their trunks. “I'll be lady’s maid and dress you just as fast as I can! Oh, Iam so delighted, I can hardly think! Do please hurry, dearie!” § Marion rubbed her eyes as she rose from the couch. She was having a hard time to realize what had happened. “Just think, you'll see Mrs. McKinley and some of the Cabinet ladies, without a doubt,” went on Miss Allyn. “Oh, dear! I wisn they knew what a dear, sweet girl you are, and how lovely you look on the stage, and what an artist you are, and all the rest of it!” “Oh, Alma! How you do go on!” laughed Marion, merrily. “As if that would interest the first ladies of the land!” Miss Allyn did not pay the slightest at-- tention, but rattled on in her excited fashion. “And if they knew how many offers you had received to marry rich men, I guess their eyes would stick out! Why, Dr. Brookes is rich? and Archie Ray is rich, and just think of Commodore Dickson, he’s the richest man in Arizona! If you had married him, they would be sure to respect you, Marion! Oh, you needn’t ‘frown! I know the world, dearie, Nearly every one in the land bows down to money! Of course, they'll all be sweet and patronizing and well bred and all that, but how they would stare if they knew the truth, that you could marry a far richer man than ever lived in the White House!” “If T can’t win their respect on something hesides a sound-money basis, I’m afraid Tl have to do without it,” laughed Marion, mer- ily. “T am only a poor girl, earning my living on the stage, and, really, Alma, I Gomichooks.com