Motion Picture Story Magazine (Feb-Jul 1911)

A CURE FOR DYSPEPSIA 135 concluded lamely; and they felt that the odds were in their favor. Kirkweather walked slowly down the little row of cottages to the intersection of his street with the main one. How delicately balanced a thing is chance, sometimes ! He was prepared to return, after a discreet interval, and to pronounce a solemn verdict in favor of his daughter. As he turned homeward the swinging summer doors of the "Main Street Cafe" hinged abruptly outward, and a dapper, cheery-looking young man stepped out, almost into the arms of Mr. Kirkweather. Kirkweather stepped backward a pace or two to give the damnable encounter full force, and assumed the expression of Dante. "George Merridew!" he exclaimed with a heavy, dazed voice. The usually self-assured young man had recoiled simultaneously, and for half a moment had rabbit-eyed it, blinking like a snared hare. ' ' Ah ! Mr. Kirkweather ! " he ejaculated in a tremulous key. "How is Mrs. Kirkweather? — and I see you looking well, I 'm sure ! ' ' Kirkweather stared at the still swinging doors, as if to convince himself of their reality. "Mr. Merridew/ 'he said haughtily, "will you kindly explain your attitude in egressing from that building, or am I to imply that it is your regular habitation?" George laughed uneasily. " Oh ! You mean 29 Main Street, ' ' he said, with a thumbjerk over his shoulder. "The fact is, Mr. Kirkweather, ' ' he continued confidentially, "they are tenants of my father, and, I regret to say it, very prompt pay, at that. Having collected the rent, I will be very much honored to accompany you home." He stepped forward as if the petty incident was of no further moment, but Mr. Kirkweather held his umbrella threateningly in front of him. The apple in his throat worked convulsively. "Mr. Merridew," he said frigidly, "I regret to see you so fallen. May the Lord spare you, for I cannot ! ' ' With that he turned soberly on his heel, and left the dejected young man, beneath the swinging sign of the tavern. . In the Kirkweather cottage, under the red reading-lamp, Naomi and her mother stitched serenely on the omnipresent couch pillows. The longer Kirkweather continued his saunter, they felt, the more graceful his surrender on returning. At length his firm tread on the porch announced his homecoming, and they arose to greet the vanquished man with the little graces of the captivating sex. Mrs. Kirkweather fetched a pair of carpet slippers, the plunder of last year's fair, and Naomi opened the volume of Beecher at the page following the unfortunate dyspeptic passage. Kirkweather entered the sittingroom, without having deposited his hat and umbrella on the hall rack, and drew to the door rapidly behind him. He stood on the hearth-rug in his street-gear, and eyed them in stony fashion, like a perceiver of visions. "Mary Kirkweather," he said solemnly, "I have been on the brink of the pit, and but for a revelation would have walked blindly in." His voice rose in sudden anger. "By the right of what I have just seen, I forbid George Merridew the cheer of my house and the companionship of my family, and" — he added with staccato emphasis, ' i the consolation of my presence." Mrs. Kirkweather actually cowered under this terrible attack, where peace had been expected ; but Naomi, dutiful daughter, stepped jauntily into the breach. "Father," she said, with a mounting color, "I don't know what has angered you so about George, and I suppose you have some good reason; but I won't listen to your kicking and cuffing him about until I've had your provocation. It's for all the world like making passes at a straw man." Kirkweather recoiled on the fender as if he had been buffeted by a giant