The Mount Holly News

GROVER'S GLOVE
By COLIN S. COLLINS
Copyright, 1905, by Beatrix Reade

It was all because Grover, in a sudden fit of sentimentality, had annexed Miss Lenhart's glove. On the football field, in the woods, in the hunting season or at polo Grover was afraid of nothing, but there was something about the five foot daintiness of Laura Lenhart that made Lloyd Grover blush and stammer like the rawest schoolboy in the maddest stages of his first love affair.

He never would have dared to annex the glove had he not been certain that Miss Lenhart was unaware of her loss, and he stuffed it in his deepest pocket, trembling from head to foot lest someone suddenly appear and demand that he restore the souvenir to its owner.

Later on he participated in the general hunt for the glove, and none was more eager than he in the search. Even after Miss Lenhart laughingly declared that it did not matter he kept up the pretense and made that the excuse for reporting at her side as often as her partners left her alone for a moment.

Dropping in at his club on the way home, Grover could not resist the temptation to draw the glove from his pocket and gloat over his boldness. He even pressed it to his lips, after making sure that no one was looking, but he crushed it hurriedly in his hand at Jack Turner's approach, and as he did so for the first time he realized that there was something inside the glove.

With the perspiration standing cold upon his forehead, he realized that it must be a ring, and his active imagination at once busied itself with plans for returning the jewel undetected. He could never bring himself to confess the theft of the glove. He could not pretend to have found the ring without being forced to explain why he had not returned it at once, and a thousand and one suggestions, all equally impossible, rushed through his mind.

All the time he was keeping up a conversation with Turner, and he much surprised that young man by answering, "By registered mail," when asked how he was going home.

"I was going to walk," laughed Turner, "and suggest that I keep you company as far as your door, but if you are going by registered mail I think I will pass."

"Registered mail won't do," was the absent reply. "You see, I'll have to give my address to the postal clerk."

"You'll be giving your address and other details to the desk sergeant," laughed Turner, "if you try to get home in this state." And he left the smoking room fully convinced that for the first time he had seen Lloyd Grover intoxicated.

For an hour Grover sat and pondered the situation, and at last, without having arrived at a satisfactory solution, he went out in the hope that the fresh air might stimulate his faculties to some plan of escape.

So engrossed was he with his thoughts that he did not realize how far he had walked until, with a start, he found himself several miles from home and in a most unsavory quarter of the city. He turned to retrace his steps, and in an endeavor to reach a car quickly he took a short cut through an alley.

Halfway down the block he heard footsteps behind him and turned to confront a burly ruffian with a leveled revolver in his hand. With a spring that had gained many a five yards on the gridiron, Grover sprang on him, and in a moment they were on the wet pavement struggling to gain the advantage over the other. The footpad landed several telling blows, but in the end Grover's skill told against the other's weight, and Grover was just rising from his opponent's prostrate form when, with a rush, the police were on them. The fight had been observed, and the patrolman had summoned help.

In spite of his denials Grover was dragged to the station house and charged with assault and battery, and when he was searched the glove with its ring was brought to light.

"One of those Raffles chaps," was the grinning comment of his captor. "I'll bet that sparkler is worth $500."

One of the wardmen stepped forward. "That is the ring Miss Lenhart lost" he declared eagerly. "Her father telephoned headquarters an hour ago, and an alarm was sent out. They think one of the waiters at the Colwell ball stole it."

"This chap looks like a waiter," suggested the policeman, surveying Grover's battered face. "Guess we'll hold him."

They laughed at his request that various influential persons be sent for. It was then 1 o'clock in the morning, and the sergeant would not call anyone out of bed to come to the relief of a waiter who had been found fighting in "Bloody alley," so they confiscated the ring and thrust him into a cell with scant ceremony.

For the rest of the night Grover paced the narrow limits of the cell or sat on the edge of the iron bunk and thought. He had heard of men who had gone to prison and had concealed that fact. It would be a good idea in his case. It would be better to pass three months in jail and give it out that he had gone abroad than to face the jeers of the fellows, and when in the morning Laura came to the station house to identify her property before Grover was taken to court he stood silent while she sought to identify him as one of the waiters.

With his blackened eyes and cut lips it was difficult to tell what he looked like, and she turned away with a shake of her head. Grover's heart leaped as he realized that so far his scheme had worked successfully. Now all he would have to do would be to plead guilty and take his three months' sentence.

But his hopes were dashed by Laura's next remark.

"Will the man get a long sentence?"

"Not very long," was the careless reply of the wardman. "As far as we can make out, it's his first offense, and he'll get off with five or six years."

It was too much. Grover started forward. "Laura," he called. The girl turned in astonishment, while her father made a step forward as if to resent the familiarity. "Don't you recognize me?" he pleaded. "Don't mention my name, but for heaven's sake let me see you for a moment in private!"

"Where?" she asked uncertainly.

"There's the captain's room, miss," suggested the detective. "If you need help I'm right here. Just call."

As the door closed on them the girl turned. "Lloyd," she asked curiously, "what does this mean?"

"I didn't steal your ring," he said desperately. "I did steal your glove. The ring stuck in one of the fingers, and I never found it out till I got to the club. I was wandering around trying to find some way of getting it back to you when some rough tried to hold me up. Only thinking of the ring, I went for him and just had him beaten when they arrested me. Then they found the ring, and you know the rest."

"But what on earth did you want of the glove?" she asked. "If you wanted one I would have given it to you."

"I couldn't ask," he stammered. "Don't you know? Don't you understand? I mean—well, when a fellow loves a girl he doesn't dare do a lot of things. I've coveted that glove ever since you wore it at the Gordons' ball last winter. That was the first time I knew that I loved you. My love made me a coward. I could no more ask for the glove than I could have asked for your heart."

"Yet you might have had both for the asking," she said tenderly.