The Argosy — page 51: what you’re looking at

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40 Roger Bevere. a bit doubtful himself, you see; and Pitt had better come to it without loss of time.” “ Bevere won’t thank me for sending Pitt to him. You heard what he said.” ‘‘ Nonsense as to Bevere’s thanks. Thearm is worse than he thinks for. In my opinion, he stands a good chance of losing it.” “No!” ITexclaimed indismay. ‘ Losehisarm!” ‘¢ Stands a chance of it,” repeated Scott. ‘It will be his own fault. A week yesterday he damaged it again, the evening he came back here, and he has neglected it ever since. You tell Pitt what I say.” “Very well, I will. JI suppose the account Bevere gave to his mother and Mr. Brandon—that he had been living lately with you— was all a fable?” Scott nodded complaisantly, striding along at the pace of a steam- engine. ‘‘Justso. Hecouldn’t bring them down upon him here, you know.” I did not exactly know. And thoughts, as the saying runs, are free. ‘So he hit upon the fable, as you call it, of saying he had shared my lodgings,” continued Scott. ‘Necessity is a rare incentive to invention.” We had gained the Bell-and-Clapper station as he spoke: two minutes yet before the train for the city would be in. Scott utilised the minutes by dashing to the bar for a glass of ale, chattering with Miss Panken and the other one while he drank it. Then we both took the train ; Scott going back to the hospital—where he fulfilled some official duty beyond that of ordinary student—and I to see after Pitt. | JOHNNY LUDLOW. (To be continued.) — ri Rae SCR 9s ISAIAH, Cuap. V., VERSE 4. Ir was a pleasure great to me, my spreading vine to raise, Gently to bind each tendril bough, throughout the soft spring days; And when upon the budding grape the summer brightness lay I thought of all the coming joy on the happy vintage day. I laid good earth about the roots, and silvery waters shed From trainéd fountain when the drought o’er all the land was spread ; The pearly rain flew fast and far—till emeralds seemed to glow, And diamonds sparkled joyfully on every glistening bough. O friends, what more could I have done to this fair plant of mine ? What more than tend from hour to hour the fondly cherished vine ? And yet —when after patient hope, the pleasant vintage smiled, “Twas labour lost—love thrown away—behold the grapes were wild! Dora LYNCH. Gomicbooks.com