CHRISTMAS EVE AT THE CLUB.
CHRISTMAS EVE AT THE CLUB.
CHRISTMAS EVE AT THE CLUB.
Harry A. Terrel.
{Illustrations by H. M. Chase.}
drop-cap
“Whatif she i-s waiting? Ha, ha, ha,—hic! it’ll do her good to wait.”
The speaker was a well dressed, wealthy young aristocrat of New York. It was Christmas eve at the club, and he had sat with his comrades-in-revelry at cards and wine till the early hours of the morning, not thinking of his young wife at home, alone; and when one of the soberer of the company asked if hiswife would be waiting for him, he answered, with a mocking laugh, “Ha, ha, ha—hic! it’ll do her good to wait.”
Man with cane
Finally the wine-cup was emptied for the last time, and the party at the club dispersed. The aristocrat wandered unsteadily homeward. A few blocks from his residence a fire-engine thundered past him, and he gave a drunken shout to the drivers, as if to encourage them, and continued on his way.
As he turned the corner of the street on which his house stood, almost horror-stricken, he saw it wrapped in flames. The sight sobered him instantly, and, remembering his wife, whom he had left alone seven hours before, he rushed to the spot, and pushing through the crowd which had gathered he cried, “My wife! my God! My wife! where is she! Is she still in there?”
Not heeding the intense heat, he rushed to the building and attempted to climb a ladder resting against the house, but the firemen held him back, and led him to a group of his servants and some officers.
They parted as he came up, and he beheld there, lying on a roughblanket taken from one of the engine horses, the beautiful, white, but cold form of the one he left a few short hours before in the beauty of womanhood. Oh, the agony of murdered love! He reeled and sank to the ground, his head fairly bursting as he remembered her parting words:
“Don’t leave me to-night, George, this night of all others, Christmas eve, the anniversary of our wedding. You have left me alone every night for months past. Don’t leave me to-night.”
Then flashed across his mind his own words at the club, “What if she is waiting? Ha, ha, ha—hic! it’ll do her good to wait.”
It was too much for his wearied brain, and his mind gave way. With the fiendish crackling voice of a maniac he cried, “Ha, ha, ha—hic! it’ll do her good to wait.”
FINIS