Buttons

"Where's Buttons, Mary?" said Iittle AliceSmith, the cashgirl in a Fourteenth street dry goods store to her friend, Mary Simmons. Mary blushed and looked guilty, although shc hastily disclaimed any knowledge of the person alluded to. "How shouid I know where he is? I don't even know his name. I can't imagine why you girls are always teasing me about him." And Maiy petulantly went on with her work of rearranging the disordered showcase and with feminine tact displaying the newest goods in the most conspicuous places. But, despite her disclaimer, pretty Mary was thinking more about "Buttons" than she was willing to confess. In fancy she could see his broad shoulders and the half bashful, half conscious smile on his face as he appeared bef ore her counter on the previous week. He certainly was a strong young man. She could teil that by his brown, muscular hand. And besides there was such an honest look in his eyes. She recalled his hesitation, too, when he asked for the buttons, from which the girls had nicknamed him, and Mary argued from his ingenuousness and his respectf ui mariner that he must be entirely different from the young men whom she encountered on her way home at night and whose bold glances of admiration always made her biush. A hundred times a day Mary found herself looking down the long store toward the door, expecting and even hoping, although she did not confess the hope to herself- that he would come again. Tw-ice he had been there already, and, to teil the truth, he had bought enough buttons to keep him in those usef ui articles for five years. What he could want with so many buttons was more than Mary could divine. In anticipation of his coming Mary rangea ana rearranged the buttons in the case. There was an almost endless variety of buttons. China shirt buttons, bone coat buttons, wooden buttons covered withcloth; glasa buttons, iristinted, reflecting the gaslight in gleaming. rays. But not one of these shone so brightly as the eyes which had met hers over the counter for one brief moment and then had been hidden by the long lashes which dropped over them. The chances of his coming back seemed very 6mall indeed to Mary when 6he remembered that he had bought two cards of shirt buttons and enough trousers buttons to start a small store. "I wonder if he is going to sew them on hirnself?" said Mary to herself, a smile indenting two dimples in her cheeks. "If he does, he wiü have buttons all over him. In fancy Mary could see him sitting in hia shirt sleeves with a slender needie between his clumsy thumb and forefinger, trying to fasten a button on his shirt. She could see it all. The pressed hp, the slip of the needie as it stole under his thumb nail, the niuttered imprecation; and she laughed at her thoughts in such a merry way that the floor walker censured her, and she resumed her work with a conscious blush. But the memory of "Buttons" gradually faded from Mary's mind as the weeks went by. He did not put in an appearance again, and as the girls stopped their chaffing there was nothing left for the interest to feed upon. Then came the anti-poverty fair, in which a great many of the girls were interested. Their sympathetic hearts were attracted by the golden hopes of a possible era when all want, all misery, all poverty would be done away by the new íheoríes which were so rife in this city. What comforts, new dresses, unliinited ice cream and peanuts were contained in those magie words "anti-poverty 1" And so, urged on by her desire to help the community at large, and perhaps hoping iust a little that she was going to be benefited personally by the movement, Mary entered into the fair with all the zeal of a zealot. Sho was assigned to take charge of a stand containing articles of vertu and bric-a-brac, and in addition to these was an assortment of sleeve buttons, a most beautiful array, made of gold, pearf) onyx, and some inlaid with precious stones. Every night after the store closed Mary iiastened, sometimes very tired and footsore from standing all day, to Madieon Square garden. There were prettier girls tlian Mary behind some of the counters, but nono with a inoro demuro and winning nianner, none with a more Bunshiny smile or brighter eyes, and so tne table over wmch she presided had no lack of customers. Ono nigfat when the band was playing and the bunting shining in tho gaslight Mary looked up and found "Buttons" confronting her. As their eyes met ho stammered : "Oh, excuse me, miss. I didn't know it was you. I just called around to see if-if" "If what?" Baid Mary, kindly, anxious to relieve liis embarrassment. The young man fingered his cane uneasüy, and carefully averted his gaze from Mary, for he could f eel that she anticipated his want. Then he mustered up courage and blurted out: "If you had anv buttons!" Before Bhe could reply he added nastily: "The f act is that those 6hirt buttons I bought of you down at the store had euch small eyes that T could not get tho thread through them. It may be that the thread was too coarse. But, confound it all," he continued, h8 embarrassment nielting away before her assuring and sympathetio emile, "I've had to pin my shirt collar together ever since I camo to the city. Besides that, you can imagine what ajob it is for me to pin ono of these BtilBy starched collars around my neck!" "But I thought gentlemen were in the habit of wearing collar buttons," said Mary, with a reassuring glance. "So they do here in the city. But when I I left Otsego county my mother made me half a dozen ncw shirts in the old fashioned way, and perhaps I- I- I" Here lie colored up again, and Mary carne to the rescue with: "Of course, you like to wear the shirts because your mother made them. I'll tell youhow you can fix it. Bring the shirts down to the store to-morrow and FU get a poor woman to fix button holes in the shirt so that you can use collar buttons." He stammered out his thanks and, bewildered by the glamour of the bright eyes which beamed so kindly upon him, he bought a 3 red velvet album, for which ho had no use and which suggested each time he looked at it as it lay in his bedroom the dainty hands which had wrapped it so deftly in the paper parcel, the string and the paper of which ne had hidden away in his valise. Mary was not aware of it, but that nlght whon she boarded a Madison avenue car to go home, a tal!, swarthy young man, with a bundie under his arm, stood by the driver on the front platform. When she alighted at Grand street she was unaware that behind her, dodging along in the shadows, came the young man and the bundie. How her heart would have fluttered had she known that when she lit the night lamp"--in her chamber its gleam was watched by a pair of dark eyes in the street below, and that only when a puff of breath from her rosy lips put out the shimmering flame did lingering footBteps die away upon the pavement in the direction of the Bowery. But the next night found "Buttons" at the fair. This time he brought the shirts with him, and was even bold enough to ask Mary to go to supper with him. But he had not courage enough to ask if he could accornpany her home. Did Mary send the shirts to the poor woman whom she had spoken of? Oh, no; as tired as she was on arriving at home she sat up until 1 :30 making button holes in "Buttons"' shirts. And while she was snipping with her scissors, and her needie was flying in and out, her lover was pacing back and forth on the opposite side of the street, his heart on fire with the delirium of love. Those were pleasant days for Mary. Her eyes took on a new luster, her cheek assumed a more roseate hue. The elixir of love had animated her with new life. All day she hummed under her breath: Just a little sunshine, Justalittlerain; Just a little happiness, Just a little pain. At last, one night just before the fair closeó, "Buttons" mustered up enough courage to ask if he could accompany her home. His excuse was that the night was wet and she had no umbrella, and she consented, so shyly, oh, so shyly, and Buggested that as the fair closed early they should walk. As they went down the Bowery with its brilliant shop windows and the eidewalks shining ín the light it was necessary to walk close together because the crowd was so great and the umbrella was small. It was curious, but neither had eyes for the dazzling scène along the route. "Buttons" beguiled the way with the story of his life. He told her- and she listened carefully fearful that she might lose a word- how he liad come to the city from Otsego county and was fortúnate enough to secure a job as a blacksmith in a railroad car shop. His name was Torn Murphy. He had agood trade, and one of these days he intended to get married if he found a girl who was ling to take a homely fellow like him. Here Mary archly said: "Why, I don't think you're homely." _ Torn gave her hand a squeeze, just a little one, and then they walked in silence for awhile and at last arrived in front of her father's house. "I can't ask you to go in," she said, in a deprecating manner, "because it's too late. But can't you come around some other night?" Could he! Could the stars shine! Could a duck swim! Well, he should rather guess he could! But there was a little matter he wanted to mention. Here he became strangely 6ilent, and held her hand while the rain feil with a slow drip on the umbrella. "What is it? she said, palpitating like a frightened rabbit. A big lump came up in Tom's throat and a mist swam before his eyes. He turned palé as he placed his hand beneath her chin and raised her drooping head so that he could look into her eyes. "I was wondering," he eontinued, in an unsteady voice, "if you would be willing to give up selling buttons and devote your whole time to sewing buttons on my clothing!" "Oh, Torn!" she said, etruggling to get away. But he held her f ast and for an instant the Irish friezo overcoat and the waterproof were pressed close together by a sturdy blacksmith's arm. A gust of wind camo around the corner and carried the answer away, but it must have been favorable to his wishes, for Torn astonished the Italian chestnut vender on the corner by buying out his whole stock and otherwise acting like a {rood natured