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Saved By A Spoon

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Yale street, Englewood. In this recherche, a la mode, and comme 11 faut Rue de Style of Chicago's intramural Southern suburb no ragweed, dog fennel Dr muilen stalk ever obtrudes its plebeian personality. No upstart dandelion rears ts feathery head on the irreproachable lawns of this distingue highway of subUrban fashion and blows about it aiterward. The sun pauses decorously as it passes over Yale street and then hurries reluctantly on to fill unavoidable engagements elsewhere. The banana peddler speaks with a modulated voice and a more pronounced Italian accent when he invades its hallowed confines, and the nomadicfish merchant announces his coming by using a silver plated hom with an amber mouthpiece instead of the soul deBtroying squawker he employs when his wagon wobbles and rattles along Sixtythird. A palé lemon tinted parlor with vivid permanganate of potash stencilings on the upper borders of the walls. A chandelier of gorgeous and intricate architecture doing its best to Ilumínate the surroundings, but hampered by having nothing but a ehelf worn article of Town of Lake gas on hand to use withaL A young woman of elabórate bangs and haughty demeanor, and a youth of dejected mien who had releived a blow and was endeavoring to grin ind bear it, but found hiinself unable to ?rin. Such was the general tout ensemble. "If this is all the answer you have to give me, Thuringia de Hote," he said, "I don't eee auy use in continuing the conversution." "None at all, Mr. Kershoek." "And I might as well cali it a water haul and go." "As you choose, Mr. Kershoek." "It's a pretty ending to all my dreams," he muttered, as if communing with himselL. "House over here on Harvard Street, ten rooms, modern improvements, nineteen closets, regular boudoir, see straight through dining room of north and south neighbora' houses, and plan all fixed for tennis court on shady side." The young woman smiled a cold, glassy Bmile, and Mr. Kershoek drew on a glove. "I see it dow," he coiitinued. "I might have known it. It was folly in me to think I could win the affections of an iceberg." He pulled on bis other glove, took hin hut, shook his head and went on witb iucreasing sadness: "I had taken such satisfaction, too, in making a collection of souvenir spoong that I hoped some day" "Of souvenir spoons, Mr. Kershockf" "Yes. Been two years getting them together. What good will they do me nowf" he asked drearily. "There's the Landingof-the-Pilgrim-Father spoon, the Brooklyn bridge spoon, Stockyards spoon, the Alhambra-by-Moonlight spoon, the KiilVl tower spoon and a whole raft of others. Got sixty-seven of them in all and" "Sixty-seven souvenir spoons?" exclaimed Miss De Hote as she rose up, quivering and panting. "Say it again, Clarp.nce! Say it againl" "Yes. Sixty-seven," he replied in the same dejected way, "and I was going to" "Oh, Clarence!" The proud beauty threw herself in hia arms, pillowed her classic Yale street head on his robust Stewart avenue shoulder, and the flickeriug glare of the consumptive gaslight feil dimly on a rapturous malden whispering ecstatic notbings in the ear of a wildly astonished youth who


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