The Argosy — page 137: what you’re looking at

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

122 A Tragedy. children. ’Tom Chandler is to be made his partner and to marry Emma.” ‘We are too many girls there, and want you for partners,” cried Eliza Letsom, dashing up. ‘‘ Do come and dance with us, Johnny!” What else could I do? Or Tod, either. It was nearly eleven o’clock when the party separated. ‘The wag- gonettes held us all, and nice scrambling and crowding we had for seats. One of the vehicles, after setting down some of its freight —ourselves and the Miss Chandlers—continued its way to Duck Brook with Jane and Oliver Preen. It was a lovely night. The moon had risen, and was flooding the earth with its soft light. Jane sat looking at it in romantic reverie. Suddenly it struck her that her brother was unusually still; he had not spoken a single word. ‘‘ How silent you are, Oliver. You are not asleep, are you ?” Oliver slowly raised his bent head. ‘‘Silent?” he repeated. “One can’t talk much after a tiring day such as this.” ‘IT think it must be getting on for twelve o’clock,” said Jane. “ What a delightfully happy day it has been! ” “The one bad day of all my life,” groaned Oliver, in spirit. But he broke into the two lines, in pretended gaiety, that some one had sung on the box-seat of the waggonette when leaving Mrs. Cramp’s : ‘For the best of all ways to lengthen our days Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear.”’ ITI. “My Dear Sir,—Robert Derrick is getting troublesome. He has been here three times in as many days, pressing for ten pounds, the instalment of your debt now due to him. Will you be good enough to transmit it to me, that I may pay and get nd of him. ‘Truly yours, ‘¢ JOHN PAUL.” This letter, written by Lawyer Paul of Islip, came to Mr. Preen by the Thursday morning post, just a week after the picnic. It put him into a temper. ‘What do Paul’s people mean by their carelessness ?” he exclaimed angrily, as he snatched a sheet of paper to pen the answer. “DEAR Mr. PauL,—I don’t know what you mean. I sent the money to you ten days ago—a bank-note, enclosed in a letter to your- self. “Truly yours, “G. PREEN.” Calling Oliver from his breakfast, Mr. Preen despatched this answer by him at once to the post-office. There was no hurry whatever, since the day mail had gone out, and it would lie in Mrs. Sym’s drawer until towards evening, but an angry man knows nothing of patience. ECORNICLOOOKS, (EC)