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Mjâ€"d ,___/___â€"â€"â€"- A 1‘0./\.‘./\,‘ A}! :1 -""-’§ -...~’\‘--...."‘{INCAQKEEA',C'CÂ¥9â€"~:'$tl--¢Az’ 25>" WVTV WV]: (VCR/.727» 'I’v'vv o'v'v‘v lv‘vv v v I\ 0v 1v 1 v I v I v s c a rwl W n rm} pad 0 (’3 W 0 FT}- 0 F-‘h l i . 2;} 1 :2 o s2 firm! a a; <1 (.9 g E”... p.» lees Z" ( F l'[\l/ A . \IAAAIAI,A.|I\U\‘_. -. \ nun A A AAA _/\, A_I/\I I. ‘ "$1 only-a_>v-4‘."‘.’ - -.-..-.!~..9..3-..~;.4,--.. .,..‘.«V'.v..\;;.v'v§v,v.quvvls I" v'o v‘v’v iv v'\.' o‘v‘uv \- v i v Iv “Sam Pettit, my boy, you’re in luck.” _ _ An old man with white hair, close cr 5 ed, bent over a grimy news- Iiaopelf'; a clay pipe with bowl turned down hung out of his mouth, and a. jug of flat beer stood at his elbow. ESTHER WHITE.â€"Wanted, infor-_ mation as to the whereabouts" “of Esther White, daughter of Geoflry Tarrant White, and his wife, Gladys White, formerly lenshaw. A li‘icral reward will be paidâ€"Bell and Bull, Solicitors, Old Jewry, E.C. “And to think that Geoffry Tar- rant White and me should come out on our ticketâ€"o’â€"leave on the same day just a. month ago, an three days after he should die in my arms. What was it he said? ‘Pettit, ’ my boy, I’m aâ€"goin’, Promiseme, ‘he says, 'that you’ll go to my daughter me. Esther an’ ask her to forgive Lor‘, fancy asking to be forgiven by your own' kid. ‘Shc was a little mite of five when I was took,’ .110 says, so she must be about twenty Well, dooty is (looty, an a now. promise is a promise, an’ I’ve got v I .- ‘ I ‘ Esther White 3 address, an Bell and Bull are going to give me a liberal reward for it.” V He finished the beer witl'i much gusto, and after carefully brushing a battered silk hat he left his lodgâ€" ings with a jaunty air born of new- lyâ€"found freedom. “lie made his. way to Old Jewry and soon found the Offices of Messrs. Bell and Bull, where he demanded to see one of the partners. "What name, sir?” demanded the clerk, eyeing him suspiciously. For a moment he hesitated; then a. strange inspiration seized him. “\‘r’hiteâ€"Geoffry Tarrant White.” The mention of the name was suffâ€" cient. The clerk disappeared nith alacritV, and soon returned to usl'er Sam I’ettit into the presence of Mr. Bell. “Good morning, sir, good morn- ing.” chirped Mr. Pettit, affably. “Take a seat, please,” sail Bell, shortly. "You have about ” . “This advertisement, sir, for whereabouts of Esther White, daughter, sir; an’ if a man don’t know the whereabouts of -is own daughter and ain't concerned in the happiness of his child lieâ€"~â€"-" "You will understand, Mr. White, that the advertisement refers exclu- sively to your daughter, and my client has not the slightest wish to have. anything to do with you." “’I'hat’s all very well, an’ very high an’ mighty, but I’ve got to know what the advertisement means and whether any harm is intended to my girl, an’ until I do know I keeps her vhereabouts to mySelf.” “Nothing but good is intended for your daughter, I can assure you. 0f the misery you have caused other people by your past life I will say nothing. Your own conscience, I hope, will be sufficient. But I trust that the future of your daughter will in some way recompense her for the hard life which, I fear, has been her lot,” ‘ "Recompense herâ€"-â€"liow?” “When James Renshaw, your late wife's father, died, some three months ago, all his estate passed to Paul Renshaw, a distant relative, now in his thirtieth year. On his deathâ€"bed James ltenshaw made Paul promise that he would find Esther White and make ample provision for her future.” “An’ that’s ment means. Mr . come 'the my what the advertise- llly daughter is to be took from me, an’ I can starve in the gutter. Look what she says in her last letter to me, written a Week afore I came out.” Sam Pettit took a crumpled letter from his pocket and straightened it out. ‘ “ ‘Dcar Fafther’â€"there, do you hear that? ‘Dear Fathomâ€"I understand that you are shortly to be released. I promised mother before she died that I would have a home ready for you to come to. I have kept" my word. I enclose the money for your fare, and hope you will lose no time in coming here.-â€"-E.W'.' ’l‘here! what do you think of that?” “Poor girl; poor girl!” “An’ do you think I’m going to give up a comfortable home an’ be turned out like a dog? No fear; I keep her address to myself.”- “And have you seen her since you came out?” “Wellâ€"erâ€"you seeâ€"coming to Lonâ€" don with a little moneyâ€"crâ€"â€"wellâ€"-â€" you know.” , “And you have no money left? Well, Mr. White, I will do this. Give me the address and I will hand you ten pounds. That will enable you to go to your daughter. I have no wish to keep you from her; I only wish to impress upon you that her future will be one of‘ comparative affluence, which you must not reckon upon sharing.” “Oh! I know an old ticket-o’leave man can only count upon being kickâ€" ed from pillar to post. I’ll take the money; and here’s the address.” He wrote the address on a sheet of paper and pocketed the money. At- ter carefully polishing his hat on a greasy sleeve, he bade Mr. Bell good morning and departed. Once out- side the door, however, he turned round with a chuckle, and placing his thumb to his nose he spread the fingers out. "Spoofed; sold; done brown. Pettili, youjcc in luck; and now for Sam ihis heart to [you must egg ’cm Manchester- Esther. ’ ’- Gay Street, Manchester, somewhat belied its name. It was a. drearyâ€" looking place enough, and the homes it contained were often drearier still, but it was cheap, and at all events un the case of No. 11, it was clean. Esther White bent over her sewing but every now and then she raised her head and listened expectantly. A cheerful fire was burning in the grate and the table was prepared for a. meal. . At that instant a body lurched against the front door, and the knocker fell with a single thud. With a. look of apprehension upon her face Esther rose and opened the door. 'A smell of stale whiskey on- tered the house, followed almost iniâ€" uiediately liy Sam Pettit. “Well, Esther, my gal, here I at last. Got tired o’ Waitin’ me, did yer?” “I certainly expected you many weeks ago. I asked you to come here as soon asâ€"â€"â€"” “Say it, my gal, say it. 'As sooa as I came out of quod. Well, here I am, so come an’ give us a kiss.”- Instinctivcly she drew back. “What! afraid of yer old dad; not used to him yetâ€"eh? Well, let it pass an’ bring on some grub, on’ then I’ve got news to tell yer." She placed food before him and sat almost in silence while he ate. She was keeping her promise to her dead mother, but she could not repel a. feeling of aversion as she contemplatâ€" ed the man before her. “Well, yer seem to have growu a pretty, wellâ€"setâ€"up sort of girl, Esâ€" ther, and you’re fairly comfortable an’ my dear daughter am for here. A credit to yer mother an" me. Did yer mother ever mention James llen shaw‘?’ ’ mother’s "James Ilenshai was my brother, and lived at illennystown Cross in Surrey. I understand he died some months ago.” “And Paul Henshaw‘?” “I do not know him.” “Well, you jolly soon will, cause I expect him here any any hour, any minute.” “Herc! Why '? “Because your mother’s brother did the right thing at the last minâ€" ute, and told Paul lienshaw, his heir, to provide for us handsomely- for us, do yer- ’car, for me and you." "How do you know this?” be- day. “Seen it in the paper; see ’ere, there ’tisâ€"Bell and Bull. I’ve' in- terviewed ’em, {111' they paid me ten pounds on account, an’ now I’ll go an’ have a. doss; I’m tired. They may be here to-inorrow, an if they want to take you away from me, eh? Es’ther, ,my gal, I’m an old. man, 7 “Do not fear. I shall keep my promise to my mother.” "Good gal, good gal; always obey your mother.” ’ And Sam Pettit retired to a com- fortable bed, chuckling to himself. To Esther White the next two days passed almost like a. nightmare. In her occupation as milliner she had to absent herself from the house for several hours every day, and Sam Pettit filled in his time by get- ting as intoxicated as his means would permit. On the third day, however, when Esther arrived home she found her supposed father in conversation with a stranger. "’Ere she is; this is my gal, my dear daughter Esther. Esther, my dear, this is Mr. Paul Relishaw, him as advertised for us.” “Pardon me, my advertisement was for Miss White and made no referâ€" ence to you. I am sorry, Miss White, that I have been so long in tracing you, but we could not 'find any clue to your whereabouts.” “Why should you wish to, Mr. Ron- shaw? My father has told me seine rambling story. but I cannot underâ€"- stand it.” “I can soon explain it'. When your uncle, James Ilenshaw, was dying, he asked, me to seek you out and provide for your future. Now that I have found you I ask you to make arrangements to come to Dennystown Cross and take up your abode there.” “And what of incâ€"what of me ‘2” demanded Sam I’cttit. "I have nothing whatever to do with you, sir; my interest is entirely concerned with Miss White. “An’ what of her promise to her mother to provide me with a. home, eh?” “I am sorry, Mr. Ilenshaw. but I pannot do as you ask. As my fathâ€" er says, I promised mother to look after him, and I must do it.” And nothing Paul Ilenshaw could say would move her from her resolu- tion. She would gladly have given up her hard struggle for existence and accepted his proffered friendship, but. the memory of her promise made this impossible. Finding that words would not prevail, he accepted the situation. “Well if you are determined to keep your promiseâ€"and believe me I honor you for itâ€"you must bring your father down with you. I shall have a cottage vacant in a few Weeks, and meanwhile you will be my guests at Deniiystown Manor.” And to Sam Pcttit's delight it was arranged that they should go to Denâ€" iiystown Cross on the following Satâ€" urday. Paul chshaw did nothing by halves,'and when Sam Pettit brought Esther to the manor at the time appointed the errâ€"convict presented the appearance of an exceedingly well-dressed and highly respectable old gentleman; Sam Pettit had not been at Denny- stown Manor twentyâ€"four hours beâ€" fore he became firmly convinced that Paul Renshaw was rapidly losing Esther White. "An’ 021, Sam, my boy, an’ if Esther once marries Renshaw, membcred that no one knew of the you’ve made a. nice dowuy bed for imposture. “Myâ€"fatherâ€"where is he?” “He left for London two hours came very evident to eve {body that “go: miss; said he was g°ing '00 30in his surmise. Paul Renshaw very much in love with his pretty guest, and Esther seemed in no way averse to his attentions. It sometimes happened that Sam was too unwell to appear at dinner, and upon such occasions he would betake himself to a. cosy spot in the garden and indulge in an openâ€"air cure, with a. bottle bulging his pockâ€" et. There it was that one day life,” 'And in two or three days it be- r; Sam Petit had made no mistake in masmr- with the sound. of voices in his ears, and he realized that Paul and Esther the face of this disaster She were standing on the other side of the hedge. “Lister to me, Esther. no affection between you and your father and I do not possibly can be. morning till night, and nothing to love in him. be far better for him to‘go away, and so long as he stayed away I there see how there availing, He .is drunk from when, weary and heartâ€"sick, she fvas is wendi-ng her way It would met him face to face. Crook's drove him to the was station, miss.” “Send for the police and have a conveyance round. I can catch the 10.30. I must see Mr. Renshaw to- night." All was bustle and commotion, the servants ran hither and thither, and in a. few minutes Esther was on her way to the station. The sole idea in her mind was to find Sam Pettit and make him return the jewels. 'Where to look for him she did not . he know, but she felt that once in Lon- awoke from a somewhat heavy Siesta don fortune would help her. She did not seek Paul lleiish'aw. In could not meet him. She took lodgings at a quiet hotel, and on the follow- There is ing day she commenced her search. For two days her efforts were unâ€" but on the third day, to the hotel, she “Samuel Pettitâ€"â€"at last!”- “Est-her! ” Like a hunted hare he looked up and down the street, as if contemâ€" but the sight of a would allow him two hundred a year." _ _ “No, Paul; I cannot do it. Deâ€" plating flight, 4 praved and degraded though he may constable in the Vicinity made him be, he is my father, my 1notherâ€"â€"” “And yet you cannot promise me. All my love is to go for- naught. Let him stay here and live in the and I promised change his tactics. "Yes, Sam Pettit, I have found you at last. No, don’t think to escape, or I will give you in charge.” “Thenâ€"thenâ€"you don’t mean harm cottage, but give me the one wish of to me?” my life. You say that you love me, and " “Yes, Paul, I do love you, while my father is alive. I marry you; it would simply drag you down and embitter our lives. It would be far better If I went away “A nice, dootiful daughter, an’ no mistake. Refusing ten thousand year because I’m alive,” murmured Sam Pcttit, as the voices died away in the distance. "I’ll teach her toâ€" cannot J a, consented, “I want the jewels you stole‘from Mr. Renshaw; after that I don’t but care what becomes of you; but the ewels I must have.” “Ah! if I could only get rid of them. Come with me; they ,are close at hand. I have not had a mom- ent’s peace since I took them.” Without fearing danger she joyfully and Saanettit led the way down a series of mean streets. Then stopping before a dismal-lookâ€" ing house he opened the door and He. led her to a night," bade her enter. On the follov.‘ing day Paul Renâ€" meanlyâ€"furnishcd room an the first Shaw went up to London on busi- floor. Once inside he banng the ness, and l’ettit found his opportunâ€" door and turned the key in the lock. it)“ “And now, my gal, did you think “Look ’erc, my gal, you ain’t playâ€" you could get the better of Sam ing inc fair, an’, understand me, I i’CtLit? You little innocent. ‘I’m on aifi’t going 101‘ ’ave it,” my way to the Continent toâ€"night, wdvnat do you 1ncan?’l. asked E5- but before I go I must silence you they. ‘ for a few hours.” “What do I mean? Why, this: I He threw himself upon her and heard Paul Renshaw offer to make seized her wrists. She fought with 'ou his wife, an’ you was fool superhuman “energy. but was no enough to blight my prospects by match for 1111113 She was rapidly refusing him, an’ I won’t ’ave it. 105111: strength, and Wlth a. loul Do you hear? 'After yer promise to scream she fell to the floor. ‘ ‘too, At that moment the front deor Disgraceful, I call it. An' wantin’ to pay me two hundred a year to clear outâ€" not much. I’m going to stay ’ere, an’ you’ve got to marry I’aul Renâ€" shawl” Esther faced him, quiet, but deter- mined. “Listen to me, please, before you presume to dictate and bully. Until the last few weeks I have known practically nothing about you. Dur- ing the time you were away my mother seldom mentioned your name, but when she did it was only to recall your good qualities. When she died and I prepared a home for you I hoped to meet a father whom I could respect, if not love. I had been taught to look upon you as one who was more sinned against ihan sinner. Of my disappointment I shall say nothing, but I want you to understand distinctly that I am not going to drag Paul Renshaw's name in the mire by presenting him with you for a relation.” That same evening Esther found her supposed father in the library. His coat Was lying on the floor, and he lay back in his shirt-sleeves sleeping heavily. Full of disgust she picked the coat up with the intenâ€" tion of rousing him, and as she did so some papers fell out of the pockâ€" et. She glanced at them carelessly, but one doculnent arrested her attention. It was a ticketâ€"ofâ€"leave made out in the name of Samuel Pcttit. Like a flash the suspicion through her brain. Was this her father ? Stepping behind the chair she bent towm‘ds him. “Samuel Pettit!” With a hoarse cry the man sprang yer mo ther, darted man from his chair and glared about him.” . “Yesâ€"yes. Who called me?” “I did.” “Youâ€"you? What do you mean?” “I mean that you are an iinposter; you are not my father, but Samuel Pcttit, and here is your ticket-0fâ€" leave.” “You are making a mistake. Iâ€"â€"” “Oh, it is useless to deny it. I have felt all along that you could be no relation of mine, and here I have proof.” Sam Pettit in his fuddled state felt that the game was up. “Andâ€"and what are you going to do?” “Hand you over to the police if you are not away from here in half an hour.’ The mention of police ‘Was quite enough for Sam and he gave in at once. ((1111 lost. Iâ€"I can take my few I suppose?” ' ‘ She nodded, and he left the room, leaving her gazing into space, a prey to conflicting emotions. For some hours she sat almost without movâ€" ing; then came a commotion in the hall and the old butler burst into the room. . "Oh', miss, master has been robb- ed. The safe in his room is broken open and the jewel-case has gone.” With a cry of horror she sprang to her feet with the name of Pettit on her lips. Then she I’ve played the game an’ clothes, Sam be. m‘ ion it. was burst in with a Crash and severâ€" al men dashed up the stairs. In an instant the second door was forced, and Paul Iienshaw, with two detec- tives, entered the room. “Esther! Esther! My darling!” She fell into her lover's arms in a dead faint. “So, Sam Pettit, we have got you again,” said one of the detectives. "Sam Pettit! I don’t understand,” said Paul; “this man is Geoffry Tarâ€" rant White.” “Not much. Geoffry White (lied some months ago; this man is Sam Pettit." Pettit, with the handcuffs on his wrists, resigned himself to his fate, and in a few moments Esther recov- ered. . “',l.‘hank Heaven we were in time, darling. It is fortunate that " we were shadowing this man, and trac- cd him to his den.” "The jewels are here, Mr. Shaw,” said one of the men. “I care nothing for those; my jewel is here. Nay. don’t speak just yet, darling; I have heard all. Your father is dead, and there is now no bar to our marriage. IIencefo-rth I shall devote my life to make your days a dream of ‘happiness, leaving the law to deal with this ticketâ€"0’- leave man.’ ’â€"-London Tit-Bits; '- R enâ€" » ..__.....__.9_â€"â€"__ NOT MARRY THE GIRLâ€"- nags. is lazy. Who is a flirt. Who cannot control her temper. Who is not neat and tidy in her dress. Who is deceitful, her friends. Who fusscs, fumes, and fidgets about everything. Whose highest aspiration has never soared above self. Who is amiable to suitors and “hor- Irid” to her family. Whose chief interests dress and amusements. Who lacks thrift, and has no of the value of money. Who cannot hear to hear anyone but herself praised or admired. Who never thinks that her mother needs an outing, amusement, or a change. Who huiniliates servants by snap- ping at them or criticising them beâ€" fore guests. . Who dresses in the height of fashion when going out, but does not care how she looks'at home. Who always comes to the breakfast- table late and cross, in an old wrap- per or dressingâ€"jacket, with her hair in curlâ€"papers, and who grumble’s and scolds at. everything and everybody. Wlio puts everything she can get on her back, so that she may make a good appearance, while her mother is obliged to patch and do up for herself old cloaks, gowns, and bon- nets. DO Who Who and not true to in life are idea Motherâ€"That note paper is certain- ly very quaint, but are you sure it is fashionable? Daughter: Ah, it must It’s almost impossible to write wan GREAUULKS an? SOCIETY THROUGH THE SHOP- MAN ’3 SPECTACLES. How the .Prominent People of England Are Viewed by Tradesmen. Tradesmen love dealing with Upper Ten. The general experience of Westâ€"end tradesmen is that the higher in the social scale a custom-Jr is, the more considerate and 2:1".‘.3.'-)l') lie or she is found to be, says Pearson’s Weekly. The Duke of Argyll is beloved of tradesmen. The liing's brofhernin- law is the most amiable of men to serve. One tradesman, who deals lll. ,large .articles of furniturc,‘recalls the 'Duke purchasing .a large wooden arâ€" ticle, and positively declining to let one of the assistants carry it to his carriage, lifting it out of the shop himself as though accustomed to the work. - Miss Ellen Terry is as charming oi‘f the stage as on', and few know this better than shop assistants. Sh.) darts from place to place in a most kittenâ€" like manner, laughing and chatting; to the assistants as though in a drawâ€" ingâ€"rooni. Once the sun "was shining rith all its might through ’the window, and an assis ant pulled down the blind. :::’\.h!” exclainzcd the famous actress, see how conszderate she, is for DUI wrinkles. She knows they are 10s}; conspicuous in the shade, so lainle pulls down the blind.” Of comes: Miss Terry was assured that the acâ€" tion was prompted by no such ino- tives, being entirely to protect the bonnets in the window from the cow- erful ’ RAYS OF THE S N. Mr. Brodrick is a businessâ€"lute, outspoken shopper, and woe betide'the man who tries to overcharge him. The Indian Secretary. too, is not above a gentle bit of bargaining when there is a possibility of securing a reduc- tion in the price of an article. llfrs. Joseph Chamberlain, tliougl quite young herself, shops with her grown~up stepâ€"daughters, and chaoses their gowns with the air of a dowâ€" ager. She is a most amiable custom- er in every way from the assistants’ point of view. , Mrs. Patrick Campbell has for years past been one of the most familiar figures in the West-end shops. In .a recent play, in which the critics had not spoken well of her performance, she remarde at one shop that “they were all running her down, but; she /would make up the part in a night or two,” when she predicted a change of opinion. And, worming u,_' to the part, aided by the dress-maker, she promptly more than justified these words. A shabby old gentleman many years ago went into a Westâ€"end shop for a. piece of furniture. The assistants titâ€" tered as he entered, thinking he was some laborer in his “Sunday best,” and, in dealing with him, treated the matter more as a joke than anything else. . I On being asked the price of a draw- ingâ€"room article, he was told £25, the shopman having asked this price at random, supposing that his custoâ€" mer would not be able to pay any- thing like it. He was surprised to hear in rean, “Ah! I’ll take this. Send it to .my address.” ' “What name, sir?" asked the sales- man. "The Duke of Somerset,” was the unconcerned reply, which promptly squashed any inclination on the part of the shopman in future to be. guided in his civility by the appearance of his customer. The Duke really secured the article at less than its nropcr price. Miss Marion Terry is quite different from her sister Miss Ellen Terry. Iii-~ stead of dispensing ainiability to all .‘and Sit-iidry, she is very dignified and awe-inspiring in her shop demeanor. Mrs. George Alexander is quite an ’artistic shopper, and her taste in seâ€" lecting articles inspires general ad- miration. Had fortune been other- Wise, she might well have been a fashâ€" ionable costumier hersflf. She is credited with the design of all the dresses and rooms at the St. James’s Theatre, and certainly chooses her own tli’ngs with the greatest taste. Many ladies who at first glance anâ€" pcar tube the most easily pleased turn 'out to be veritable tartars. and after mentioning that they have only a minute or two to spare, stay an hour deciding on a hat or an article of clothing. Not so Miss Rhoda, Broughton, who once went into a millincr's shop exâ€" claiining. "I am very difficult to bonâ€" net,” but it turned out that she was really the reverse, being much more easily satisfied than many far less candid customers. ....~._+...._._._’ OUR PUZZLE!) POET. Oh‘, Muscovite and little Jap, You’ve caught me in an awful trap! For nowadays, in public eye, ' An eminence‘you occupy; And fain would I in fluent verse Your points of interest rehearse. And thus bring Shekels to my ken; For poets live as other men. In that they eat (when they have cash). A'nd pay rent, too (though this is rash). But woe is me, I cannot sing Of youâ€"no, not a single thing!â€" Becauseâ€"oh, very shame of simples!"â€" I don’t know how to say your names! - the ~ '1. .I. T _-.__...__._w.....- m“