Marietta Featherington couldn’t seem to concentrate her mind upon that thirteenth chapter of “Lily the Lovely Laundress.” The handsome rat-catcher had just beaten the aristocratic villain to a pulp and would have finished the job neatly and thoroughly had not Lily raised her lovely fair hand and cried with the imperiousness of an empress:

“Pause, Giovanni! Pause! He may have a mother!”

Ordinarily Miss Featherington would have raced through the pages hungrily, avidly. Not so on this fair November afternoon. Whether it was the mince pie and melted cheese she had partaken of a bare hour before, or whether it was the even-more-so-than-usual grumpy mood of her employer, Joshua Barnes, she could not tell. Perhaps it was neither. She refused to analyze it. Whatever the cause, she felt heavy and wistful and sad.

From time to time the emotional Miss Featherington allowed Whitney Barnes to flit through the corridors of her imagination. He had walked heavily 305 through her dreams the night before. His strange words of yesterday had strangely moved her. Desperately she had striven to solve the mystery. Were they words of love? If so, how would Old Grim Barnes accept the declaration from his son’s lips that he loved the humble though, yes, though beautiful stenographer lady of the Barnes Mustard Company, Limited?

Miss Featherington had half expected to walk into Joshua Barnes’s presence that morning and meet with a torrent of abuse. She had rehearsed a cold and haughty retort. But her employer had greeted her with a gruff, “Good-morning,” and an expression that was equivalent to a smile.

Alas! the prince had not spoken.

Marietta pounded out forty-two letters containing references to as many different kinds of assorted and selected mustard before she succeeded in dismissing the heir to the mustard millions from her romantic thoughts and creating a new hero in his stead. The new hero some way fell down and she picked up “Lily the Lovely Laundress.” But even the “Lovely Lily” failed to thrill and she laid the book aside.

A long sigh was escaping from the depressed maiden’s bosom when the door of the anteroom opened and who should enter but Whitney Barnes. Marietta swallowed her sigh and clasped her hand over her palpitating heart.

The young man was not alone, however, and he 306 did not deign Miss Featherington a glance as he held the door open and cried:

“Come in, children!”

The children were none other than Helen and Sadie and Travers Gladwin. Nor did they deign Miss Featherington a glance as they assembled in a little group, talking in hushed tones and punctuating their talk with suppressed laughter.

By the time Whitney Barnes did turn to Marietta that young lady’s nose was elevated to an excruciating angle––so much so that she was unable to fulfill her desire to sniff. There was cold hauteur in her stare as she met the smile of Whitney Barnes and replied to his query:

“Yes, Mr. Barnes, your father is in and alone.”

“Thank you, Miss Featherington,” cried the young man, gaily, and an instant later the little party of four had vanished behind a mahogany portal.

Joshua Barnes was bent over his desk writing, as the door opened noiselessly and the four young people entered. When he looked up his son, Travers Gladwin and Helen were lined up beside his chair, the two young men smiling sheepishly and the girls blushing crimson and looking down at the floor.

“Hello, Pater,” opened Whitney Barnes, “you remember Travers Gladwin. This is Mrs. Gladwin, a bride of sixty-seven minutes!”

Old Grim Barnes was on his feet in an instant with a gallant bow to Helen and a hearty handshake for the bridegroom.

For a second or two he failed to descry Sadie, who, as per rehearsal, was hidden behind the two young men. As, with a look of surprise, he spied her, Helen drew Sadie to her and managed to stammer:

“And this is my cousin Sadie, Mr. Barnes.”

Sadie dropped a timid courtesy, her face on fire.

“How do you do, Miss––er”–––

Joshua Barnes was feasting his eyes on Sadie’s shy beauty and smiling benignly.

“I didn’t catch the name,” he added, turning to Helen.

“B-b-b,” she began, when Whitney Barnes came to her rescue.

“Barnes, pater––Mrs. Sadie; that is, Mrs. Whitney Barnes––a bride of seventy-seven minutes.”

Whitney Barnes beamed upon his father and put his arm about the old gentleman’s shoulders to support him.

“How do you like my choice, dad?––isn’t she a darling? Why don’t you ask to kiss the bride?”

Joshua Barnes breathed with difficulty for a moment and his eyes blinked. Slowly he looked for confirmation in the faces of the newlywed Gladwins, and when they both nodded and smiled, he returned his glance to Sadie, who had turned very pale and was beginning to tremble.

The mustard king shook off his son’s arm and gathered Sadie to him with a bear hug.

He kissed her ten times in succession and then let 308 her down in his chair and patted her shoulder. Joshua Barnes was so happy that tears glistened in his eyes. He continued to look at Sadie for a long moment before he turned to his son and gulped:

“Whitney Barnes, you scoundrel––have you been keeping this from me?”

“Why no, dad,” came the laughing answer. “I telephoned you about it last night, and you called me”–––

“For the first time in my life I made a mistake, Whitney Barnes,” his father checked him, “and you both have my blessing a thousandfold––provided you will take me in as a boarder.”

“Done!” exclaimed Whitney Barnes.

THE END

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