Big Poker Site hazard of new fortunes 72

about her," Fulkerson resumed when they were seated in the car. "Shes an invention of mine." "Of yours?" cried Mrs. March. "Of course!" exclaimed her husband. "Yes--at least in her present capacity. She sent me a story for the syndicate, back in July some time, along about the time I first met old Dryfoos here. It was a little too long for my purpose, and I thought I could explain better how I wanted it cut in a call than I could in a letter. She gave a Brooklyn address, and I went to see her. I found her," said Fulkerson, with a vague defiance, "a perfect lady. She was living with an aunt over there; and she had seen better days, when she was a girl, and worse ones afterward. I dont mean to say her husband was a bad fellow; I guess he was pretty good; he was her music-teacher; she met him in Germany, and they got married there, and got through her property before they came over here. Well, she didnt strike me like a person that could make much headway in literature. Her story was well enough, but it hadnt much sand in it; kind of-well, academic, you know. I told her so, and she understood, and cried a little; but she did the best she could with the thing, and I took it and syndicated it. She kind of stuck in my mind, and the first time I went to see the Dryfooses they were stopping at a sort of family hotel then till they could find a house--" Fulkerson broke off altogether, and said, "I dont know as I know just how the Dryfooses struck you, Mrs. March?" "Cant you imagine?" she answered, with a kindly, smile. "Yes; but I dont believe I could guess how they would have struck you last summer when I first saw them. My! oh my! there was the native earth for you. Mely is a pretty wild colt now, but you ought to have seen her before she was broken to harness. "And Christine? Ever see that black leopard they got up there in the Central Park? That was Christine. Well, I saw what they wanted. They all saw it--nobody is a fool in all directions, and the Dryfooses are in their right senses a good deal of the time. Well, to cut a long story short, I got Mrs. Mandel to take em in hand--the old lady as well as the girls. She was a born lady, and always lived like one till she saw Mandel; and that something academic that killed her for a writer was just the very thing for them. She knows the world well enough to know just how much polish they can take on, and she dont try to put on a bit more. See?" "Yes, I can see," said Mrs. March. "Well, she took hold at once, as ready as a hospital-trained nurse; and there aint anything readier on this planet. She runs the whole concern, socially and economically, takes all the care of housekeeping off the old ladys hands, and goes round with the girls. By-the-bye, Im going to take my meals at your widows, March, and Conrads going to have his lunch there. Im sick of browsing about." "Mr. Marchs widow?" said his wife, looking at him with provisional severity. "I have no widow, Isabel," he said, "and never expect to have, till I leave you in the enjoyment of my life-insurance. I suppose Fulkerson means the lady with the daughter who wanted to take us to board." "Oh yes. How are they getting on, I do wonder?" Mrs. March asked of Fulkerson. "Well, theyve got one family to board; but its a small one. I guess theyll pull through. They didnt want to take any day boarders at first, the widow said; I guess they have had to come to it." "Poor things!" sighed Mrs. March. "I hope theyll go back to the country." "Well, I dont know. When youve once tasted New York--You wouldnt go back to Boston, would you?" "Instantly." Fulkerson laughed out a tolerant incredulity. X Beaton lit his pipe when he found himself in his room, and sat down before the dull fire in his grate to think. It struck him there was a dull fire in his heart a great deal like it; and he worked out a fanciful analogy with the coals, still alive, and the ashes creeping over them, and the dead clay and cinders. He felt sick of himself, sick of his life and of all

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