The Cheyenne Daily Leader

The Matchless Liar of Chicago

"You do not doubt me, Myrtle?"

"Never," exclaimed the girl, putting on her invisible net as she spoke, and placing her bandoline bottle where she would be sure to see it in the morning.

The sun had glared down fiercely all day upon the parched earth, and now that night had come the heat was even more oppressive than ever, because the cool wind that had been wafted from the lake during the day had wafted away. It was a dreamy, sensuous, one gauze undershirt and no vest evening, such as one often notices while traveling in Palestine.

"You have great faith in me, have you not, little one?" Vivian McCarthy said, taking the girl's off hand in his.

"Yes," replied Myrtle, "I believe in you with a childlike faith, akin to that which enables a boy to bite a pie in the dark, and I love you with a deep tenderness and fair loyalty that can never die."

"And would you believe anything I told you?'' Vivian murmured kissing the dimpled hand that lay in his.

Looking at him with her starry eyes, in which there gleamed a holy love light, the girl replied slowly and with infinite pathos: "I would believe your every word, no matter what you told me."

"Then," said Vivian, while a baleful light shot from his near eye, "there is no ice cream in Chicago."

For an instant, dazed by the shock. Myrtle did not speak. But presently the voice of her heart found echo in words.

"I can never believe you now," she whispered. "There cannot be another such liar in all the wide, wide world."

-Chicago Tribune.