Marion Marlowe's Disappearance, or, Almost a Crime — page 9: what you’re looking at

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

. * — | call » ie MY QUEEN. 7 I shall never give one,” said Marion, firmly. “When [ can’t ‘fake’ or substitute I will leave the stage. I will not lose my self-re- spect by any such form of pollution.” CHAPTER IV. VILE SWEETEST OFFERINGS. It was just as Marion had said. She had received a wonderful advertisement, for every evening paper in the city had a full account The first extras astonished her a little, for of the shooting. the report was that she was dead—killed in- stantly by the bullet. : After that the different issues began get- ting nearer the truth, and by the last edition the story was fairly accurate. The insulting fellow with the pistol was too well known not to add any interest to the affair, and the papers started in systematic- ally to investigate his character. They traced him from an obscure birth to a man of boundless means, but the missing link, which none could supply, was where and how he got his money. | As a clubman his record was exactly as Archie Ray had said. He was looked upon as suspicious and undesirable. No woman's name was sacred on his lips, and there were innumerable reports of his bad treatment of a wife, but, just at this time, no such person could be Iccated. Mr. Ray decided to prosecute him to the extent of the law, although he offered will- ingly to pay the fine for having assaulted the fellow. . When Marion appeared before the foot- lights that night she was greeted with thun- derous applause, and at the first curtain call she was forced to make a speech and ex- plain to her admirers that-she had not really been much injured. : When she got to her dressing-room aiter the first act she found it almost filled with roses, Macy had been sent in at the stage door as well as over the footlights, and the tears sprang to her eyes as she recognized the sweet tokens of affection. . “You must have scores of admirers,” said one of the company, a little curiously, as she stopped to look at them. “See, here are the cards—-may I read them, Miss Marlowe? It isn’t at all likely that I’ll know any one of them.” “Oh, I did not think to look at the cards,” said Marion, honestly. “I was just devour- ing those ‘Jacks’ and American Beauties. Do read them, by all means, and out loud, if you ~ please, Miss Ellis. I haven’t a minute to stop, for I take so long in dressing.” Miss Ellis began reading the cards, while Marion smiled happily. She had guessed the first few naw so they did not surprise her. “Mr. Ray, Dr. Brookes, and Mr. Everett,” read Miss Ellis; “then here’s a basket from a lady without any name, two bouquets from ‘admirers who desire to remain anonymous,’ and a monstrous basket of roses and orchids from ‘your old friend, Bert Jackson.’ ” “What!” cried Marion, sharply, as she turned from the glass. “Bert Jackson back from Europe! It does not seem possible.” She rushed over &’nd took the card from Miss Ellis’ hand, and a smile of amusement dimpled her fair features. “Mr. Albert Canfield Jackson,” she read, on a neatly engraved card. “Dear old Bert!” she cried. “So he has ComicboOoks.com