The Hickman Courier

A PAIR OF MUTES.

Mr. John Spencer was an attorney with something of a fortune, and of the comfortable age of five and thirty: that age when man is at his best physically and nature has filled out his frame with the necessary padding of flesh without obesity—when the wrinkles are not in his neck nor gray hairs in his mustache, although at that age he is apt to be "well set" in his ways.

The past winter had been one of unusually hard work, but not without pecuniary returns, so that when he was seriously threatened with paralysis of the throat, and upon consulting an eminent physician was told that rest and absolute silence were his only hope, he felt that he had earned his vacation, but at a rather high price. He was ordered to make no vocal sound, as his worn-out muscles were to be let entirely alone to recuperate for at least three months. If he had anything to say it must be done in writing, but not a word on pain of entire loss of speech.

As the summer vacation was at hand he selected a home in the country as his place of exile, for when one has friends one must talk. The choice was a wise one, for the farmer and his wife were quiet, intelligent people, whose children were all married and in homes of their own. The house was pleasantly situated near a river, so there was plenty of fishing and boating. To a man so long deprived of sport of this kind there was a boyish zest in renewing it; for life had not had much play in it for him, but had been made up of work. In his struggle for a place in life he had become rather cynical, especially so about women, as he knew practically nothing about them. His theories about them were almost heathenish, but they were only theories. He disliked the sex on what is vaguely called "general principles," and shunned them, one and all. On his arrival he was given the choice of two rooms, one large, the other somewhat smaller—he took the biggest. "More room for boots to stand around in and to scatter pipes and such like manly belongings." He had been pleasantly established with his books, fishing-rods, cigars and all those things which seem necessary to a man who is reaching that period of bachelorhood called confirmed.

Before his coming all the arrangements for his stay had been made by letter, and on his arrival, tablets presented with the request written to be shown to his room made the good lady of the house suppose he was deaf and dumb, which was just to his mind, for he did not want "to be bored with the woman's curiosity." If he made an explanation he would have to answer innumerable questions. If he did not it would be natural for her to come to the conclusion she had.

As the days of July became hotter and the fishing began to pall, the most interesting books had been read, he began to weary of his enforced silence, and longed for something to break the monotony. Before long he had it.

One day Mr. Grey drove up to the gate from the station with a trunk in the wagon behind and a young woman on the seat beside him. When Mr. Spencer looked out it was not with a smiling countenance, but rather a cross one, for his seclusion would be intruded on. Nevertheless, he watched the process of alighting and removing the heavy trunk with that interest bored people watch anything that is something new. He muttered something about "scrawny, faded," as the young woman was helped down, and returned to his pipe.

Laura Hyde had come to Mr. Grey's to recuperate after a severe winter of teaching vocal music in the public schools of the same city of which Mr. Spencer was a resident, and, strange as it may seem, for the same thing. Her voice had become so impaired with overwork that she was threatened with the total loss of it. Her doctor had commanded entire silence through the summer, plenty of fresh air and wholesome food as the only means of cure. The poor girl could see no way to accomplish this, but she resolved to throw herself on the generosity of the Greys, as Mrs. Grey was a relative of her mother, explaining the whole situation. They being good, charitable people, took her in for the least possible pay, for she refused to come unless she were permitted to pay something, however small the amount.

Mr. Spencer went down to tea in a selfish frame of mind, wishing that that woman had not intruded on his domain, but when he saw how tired, worn and spiritless the obnoxious person looked he relented somewhat and went through an introduction (written on the tablets) with as much graciousness as he could command. He noticed Miss Hyde only answered remarks by a movement of the head, and heard Mrs. Grey explaining in her kindly way all about his own affliction—"Deaf and dumb, poor thing. Not a bit of trouble, but he does smoke dreadfully."

Laura was given the little room rejected by him, and was as quiet a neighbor as a man could wish. A man of Mr. Spencer's habits could not be expected to take much interest in a neighbor. The only thing that struck him was that she seemed to be that rare anomaly—a woman who could hold her tongue. He gave her but little of his thought; merely bowed when passing on the stairway or in the hall.

For some time she moved about the house listlessly, with a tired, worn look that added to her twenty-four years; but, with good food, fresh air and rest she began in a few weeks to feel the influence of the place, and her expression changed to a brighter, rested one, which at least made her pleasant to look at.

The only thing that puzzled Mr. Spencer was he never heard her voice. He had heard Mrs. Grey hold long conversations with her on many subjects of domestic economy. Once or twice he himself had been the topic of conversation, but not one word in reply did he hear Miss Hyde say. She surely must have said something, for Mrs. Grey said, "Laura, you are too hard on him. He isn't an old man, about thirty-five, and not so selfish as you may think, if we only knew him. And, my dear, he can't take the same interest in things that a man who isn't deaf could. I've no doubt he would lend you any of his books if he knew you wanted them." There was a reply to this which he did not catch, for it brought a laugh and reply from Mrs. Grey, who said: "Well, it may be as you say, when men spend all their time thinking and working for themselves they forget that others may suffer for what they have in abundance and think nothing of it."

Not long after this conversation took place Mr. Spencer started for a long day on the river, equipped with fishing-rods and lunch basket. In the evening as he was returning home, when yet two miles from it, rowing leisurely, he saw Miss Hyde walking along the river bank, stopping now and then to look about her. He pulled to the shore, and presenting his tablets, on which was written: "Will you not row home, Miss Hyde, the rest of the way? You look warm and tired." She answered by writing: "I will be glad of a chance to go so pleasantly. I have lost my way, I think." With his assistance she got in. As she sat drawing her hand through the water he got a good look at her. Looks were all he got, for not a word was exchanged during the ride.

"She thinks me deaf and dumb," he said to himself, "and I shall not undeceive her, but await further developments."

She pointed to the sunset, nodded her head and smiled, to which he answered in the same way. Various objects of interest were discussed in this silent manner, so that when he came to the mooring place he concluded that it was rather pleasant to have some one as a companion.

After this they were on friendlier terms, so that when September came their acquaintance had progressed rapidly through the medium of the tablets. On Miss Hyde's returning to her school, he could hardly persuade himself that he should miss one of the obnoxious sex so much. He considered it rather strange that she had never told him in any of their "dialogues" where her home was. She had not done so because he had never asked, but said to herself: "If he cared to know he would ask. I will not force my confidence on any one." When she went neither knew where the home of the other was, and they parted, as they supposed, to never see each other again. She returned to her school, rested and restored. He stayed until the last of October, when he followed, and, as the physician had said, had entirely recovered.

Thanksgiving afternoon the matinee was "Olivette," and as he was a little out of spirits, the natural feeling of men without family ties on holidays, Mr. Spencer concluded to go. After being shown to his seat he idly looked over the house, but saw no acquaintances. Just behind him he heard a soft unfamiliar voice say: "Sue, it is he." "Who," asked Sue. "Why, Mr. Spencer, the deaf and dumb gentleman who was so kind to me last summer. But how strange he should come to an opera when he can't hear." "O, not at all," said the giddy Sue—"I should think it would be no end of fun to see them all prancing about the stage, rolling their eyes, wringing their hands, and standing on tip toe to catch the high notes, and all the time hear nothing." and Sue went off into a giggle at the absurdity of it.

"Sue," said Laura, "it is heartless to laugh and talk so about one's afflictions." "O, pshaw! he doesn't have an air of very deep affliction," Sue answered. "He looks well fed. His chin is getting double. He must be a very old bachelor. I do wish he would turn around so I could see him better."

At this point Mr. Spencer did turn around, and gave Miss Sue a look which made her ask in a whisper: "Is he really deaf, Laura? He looked wonderfully knowing, like he might have heard me." "Guilty conscience," said Laura. "Didn't I say he never spoke a word all summer, and he is as deaf as a Sphinx. I do wonder if he will remember me. Men of his age and opinions do love to snub us, and I would not be surprised that he did not recognize me."

Just then the curtain went up, and as they could afford a treat so rarely, they listened, and no more was said of Mr. Spencer.

At the close, while Mr. Spencer was struggling with his overcoat, the two girls made their exit, but what was their dismay to find it raining, and they with no protection from it and no money to hire a cab. "O, what shall we do," said Sue; "our clothes will be ruined!" Just then a voice behind them said: "Miss Hyde, allow me to see you and your friend to a carriage."

The girls looked at each other in consternation, but said never a word, and before they could realize it were seated in a carriage, with Mr. Spencer opposite. Laura looked down in her lap, Sue out the window, but true to her character, she saw the ludicrousness of the situation, and, after vainly struggling to control herself, burst into a peal of laughter, which only added to Laura's distress so much that Mr. Spencer leaned across and said: "I will explain, Miss Hyde, if you will give me the opportunity." After leaving Sue at her boarding place, Mr. Spencer began his explanation, which was so long that he followed Laura in to finish it. After giving her the facts of the case, he said: "Now, I hope you will forgive me for any mortification I have caused you."

Said Laura: "I don't know how much I have to forgive until I think it over." "Not much," said he, "for strange as it may seem I never heard your voice until this afternoon, so you have said nothing I have heard, although I knew I was under discussion from Mrs. Grey's replies. I used to think it strange, too, that she seemed to do all the talking." "O, that is easily explained," said Laura, "my voice wore out, and I was compelled to quit talking, but not writing. I am glad now you did not hear me, for some of my remarks were, as I think now, unkind and uncharitable, to say the least." "I attributed your silence to the fact that you supposed me deaf, and, as I never happened to be with you and Mrs. Grey very much, never suspected that we were a pair of mutes," said Mr. Spencer.

They have since gone into partnership, but not a silent one.—Chicago Herald.