Macon Beacon

A FORTUNATE MISTAKE
By HARLAN EUGENE READ
(Copyright, 1905, by W. G. Chapman.)

It all took place in the small room next to the court room. Percy, being an enterprising young reporter, had strayed into the ante-room in the hope that he might pick up some information before the court opened for the day. He was addressed by a person behind him.

"I would like to see you and Mr. Hopkins alone, sir. Is he here?"

The speaker was a short, fat-legged gentleman, evidently one of the lawyers in the approaching case, who had mistaken Percy for some one else. Here was a great chance to get inside information under false pretenses, so he replied, non-committally:

"No, I haven't seen him lately."

The little man glared angrily.

"What!" he cried. "What, sir? This is outrageous!" He shook an official-looking document in his companion's face as though by that act he abjured Mr. Hopkins and his sort forever, and then drew confidentially closer. "Your lawyer, sir, seems bent upon nothing but to secure a large fee."

So Mr. Hopkins was his lawyer, and Percy himself was the hard-hearted defendant! He rather enjoyed the situation. "I know no reason why he should see me," he said.

The lawyer, after puffing and blowing for some time, wiped his perspiring forehead with a large handkerchief and smiled benignantly. "I am Bowden, of Bowden & Johnson," he said, "representing the plaintiff. I cannot believe, sir, after what I have heard of you, that you are the sort of a man which your attitude in this unfortunate case seems to imply."

Percy admitted that he was not.

"You have been made a victim," resumed Mr. Bowden deliberately, tapping his companion upon the breast, "of a designing person—of a counsellor-at-law who worships Mammon. He desires an exorbitant fee, sir."

Percy did not wish an injustice done to the absent. "You forget that you have not explained yourself," he said.

"True," answered his companion, very thoughtfully rubbing a bald spot on the top of his head; "very true. But Mr. Hopkins agreed to speak of it, and I had forgotten that he did not do so. To be brief sir, my client is not actuated by any mercenary motives in bringing this action for breach of promise against you. She still loves you, sir."

Percy was visibly affected.

"She has money of her own, sir, as you are aware; and has recently come into possession of a still larger amount. You cannot plead poverty either on her side or yours as an excuse for this—this—er—amatory rupture. Did you not love her once?"

A direct answer to this question would have been liable to involve the young man in difficulties from which he might not be able to extricate himself; but he was too much interested in the case to make a confession of his identity.

"I have never loved anyone else," he answered.

This being considered equivalent to an acknowledgment, the lawyer for the plaintiff closed the door between the court room and the little room in which they stood. Then he turned toward Percy with the air of one about to make an important disclosure.

"Her mother," he said softly, "died last week. She will be alone in the world. A beautiful creature, sir, and alone in the world."

Beautiful creature—money—affectionate—alone in the world! Percy's heart began to warm toward the poor girl so basely deserted by the object of her affections. He longed to have the fellow there before him. He felt that garroting, hanging, guillotining, or any of the other well-known methods of shortening human life would be too good for such a wretch. He conceived a great pity for the plaintiff; and he began to realize that this pity was akin to a much more emotional passion.

"Sh!" said the lawyer raising a warning finger.

There was the sound of a light footstep and a sharp rustling of feminine garments. Percy gasped and looked around. A slight girl who answered the description recently given stood in the doorway. Her full, clear eyes were turned upon him with a look of sweetness and reproach that made him keenly aware of the absurd lack of taste in the defendant whom he evidently was representing.

"Sh!" said the lawyer again; and with that tact for which his profession is noted, he tiptoed to the door and closed it behind him, leaving the two alone.

That something must be done was evident. What it should be was another question. The fair plaintiff stood still, not venturing to advance, and not willing to retreat. Her eyes were downcast, and her breast was heaving tremulously. Percy, in a still more perplexing situation, stood gazing at her until their eyes met. Then she spoke:

"Oh, Fred!" she cried. "How could you!"

Not being sufficiently acquainted with the facts in the case Percy couldn't have answered if his life depended on it; but he saw that the time had come to dispel the illusion in regard to his character.

"There seems to be some—some terrible misunderstanding," he stammered. "I—I"

"Dear Fred!"

"No, no!" he cried. "Not that! You seem to have made the mistake of thinking—thinking—"

"I know it!" she cried generously. "It was all my fault."

Unconsciously he took her extended hand, and a thrill passed up his arm and lodged somewhere beneath his left shoulder; but presently he regained his self-possession and released his grasp.

"You don't understand me!" he explained hoarsely. "You don't love me—you love another."

She placed her head between her hands and sank into the chair, sobbing. "It was all that cruel letter," she cried. "I only wrote it—in—in fun; and—besides—didn't you know—Arthur was my cousin?"

"Excuse me," said Percy, laying his hand tenderly upon her shoulder. "You are still laboring under a wrong impression. I don't know Arthur, and I never saw any letter."

She arose and brushed the hair from her forehead with a pathetic motion.

"Then," she cried despairingly, "it was something else. Oh, Fred, tell me—tell me—what was it?"

Percy drew himself up resolutely.

"The fact is," he said, "that I am not the man you think I am."

"Don't say that," she cried. "I have forgiven the past long, long ago. You are the man I have always loved, and that is enough for me."

"You are still wrong," said Percy brutally. "I mean that I am not the defendant in this case."

She looked at him quickly, and as she gazed the humor of the situation forced itself upon her face. Then in a hysterical sort of a way she laughed and pressed a tiny handkerchief to her eyes. "You look very much like him," she stammered.

"I hope," he replied with some gallantry, "that I am not like him."

Mr. Bowden, of Bowden & Johnson, bustled in at this juncture. "Your counsel," he said significantly to Percy, "has asked that the case be held over until the next term of court. I am happy to hear it, sir."

"So far as I am concerned," returned that young man, and it is a noteworthy fact that he smiled at the young lady as he spoke, "the case may be absolutely dismissed."

Mr. Bowden beamed upon the defendant, and then beamed upon the plaintiff, and then ended all by resolutely turning his back to them both and beaming out of the window while he wiped the moisture from his heavy spectacles.

"Mr. Bowden," said the plaintiff softly.

"At your service," replied that gentleman, whirling sharply around and still beaming.

"I think you may—you may—"

"Drop the case altogether," suggested Percy.

"Yes," she said, coloring at the suggestion and looking very much embarrassed, and very delightfully charming, "you may drop the case altogether."

Mr. Bowden watched them as they left the room. Then he chuckled wisely and tore up a legal document he had in his pocket. In all probability he beamed again as he did it.