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LIFE IN CHICAGO.
125

Youth—" and sighed for her own youth now foregone, and the petals already fallen.

One little talk I got with my goddess: she came to the office to ask about reserving a Pullman drawing-room for El Paso. I undertook at once to see to everything, and when the dainty little lady added in her funny accent: "We have so many baggage, twenty-six bits;" I said as earnestly as if my life depended on it:

"Please trust me. I shall see to everything. I only wish," I added, "I could do more for you."

"That's kind," said the coquette: "very kind," looking full at me. Emboldened by despair at her approaching departure I added: "I'm so sorry you're going. I shall never forget you, never."

Taken aback by my directness, the girl laughed saucily. "Never means a week, I suppose."

"You will see," I went on hurriedly as if driven, as indeed I was. "If I thought I should not see you again and soon, I should not wish to live."

"A declaration", she laughed merrily, still looking me brightly in the face.

"Not of independence," I cried, "but of—" as I hesitated between "affection" and "love" the girl put her finger to her lips.

"Hush, hush," she said gravely, "you are too young to take vows and I must not listen", but seeing my face fall, she added: "You have been very kind. I shall remember my stay in Chicago with pleasure," and she stretched out her hand. I took it and held it treasuring every touch.

Her look and the warmth of her fingers I garnered up in my heart as purest treasure.

As soon as she had gone and the radiance with her, I cudgelled my brains to find some pretext for another talk. "She goes tomorrow," hammered in my