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CAPE MAY CITY. MONDAY MORNING. AUGUST 11. 1890. THE FIELD OF HONOR "It is all arnSfr.-T" said Clavignac, in ’ | a loud voice, entering the cafe where jflfe I Foogeret, Enrrocnded hr the nsnal group of journalist* and other profcanonal men who frequented the place, was awaiting hi* friend's return; "pistols at twenty paces: firing to continue until ryilt is readied."■ **8ood.'' said Fougen-t. calmly; “an the rendexrousr “To-tnomm- morning at 10 o'cloclc, o I the Verinet race course. You will go | with u» to Aanierea. Order me a carriage for 8 o'clock, and lie sure to have l the driver we had in the last affair. He i will bring us luck." '•And do not target the doctor. Lear* the pistols to me, ! have a new set and j it will bo an excellent opportunity to try

I them." .

| "1 leave it all to you."

I And after warmly pmoung Clavignac's hand Fuugeret nodded a hasty adieu to his friends and quitted the

PRICE 3 CENTS.

an. ^ s. 'A cool hnfid, that'

marked the F]»»rting editor

„ tor of ^morning

paper in a kntAiug manner. . "Yea. very /cool," came in a chorus

from the little group, as if their comrade's courage in some way redounded to their

own credit.

•‘Well, he ought to be," declared Clavignac. pouring out a glass of absinthe: “be is familiar with the situation; if 1 count right, this tshis fourth affair.” •'Indeed?" returned the journalist, respectfully. "L must put him down for my next article on the swordsmen of

Paris."

In the meantime Fuugeret had gained the street On reaching the door of the cafe he paused for a moment to reflect and after a decisive gesture started along the boulevard at a rapid rate. In a few minutes be halted before the window of a large U»ok store- filled with many colored volume* and placards. Prominently displayed in the first rank ■were a number of coquettish little volume*, neatly stamped on the hacks with these three lines: "Armand Fougeret—Conte* Roees—Third Edition.” The young man ojiened the door, and pausing between the long lines of hooks addressed a clerk: 1'Is ■ M. Lavinie in?" ••Y**: yon will find him alone.” Fougeret turned to the right and tapped on the door. “Come in,” cried a clear voice. He entered.. “Ah,” smiled the publisher, a young I man with a,blonde beard and lively I eye*, holding out his hand to his visitor, . ... — -* * *- see you. The ‘Contes well. You saw them Third edition — but

: averdaring his misfortune. The thought i ! of her and his two toddling children-^ | eerved to stimulate hit efforts and ' strengthen him in the struggle fir existThanks to ’his relations with Xoirville Fougeret knew a number of journalists, and through the loudness of one of them the doors of n review were opened to the young writer, whose first aeries | of contributions tvevived marked appro- ; val from the literary world. HU first 'novel, "A Friend's Wife,” achieved a | brilliant em-rrsa, and the comedy which he drew from it met with an enthusiastic reception on the first performance at the Udeon. From that time hU reputation was assured, and he consequently began to acquire enemies. A collection of his articles from Tbe'Vert Vert into a rectum-"biituK-l ■ •Contes Roses" drew from thej^a of the bilioqs St. Landry a crltiqueiCscathing. so bitter, so unjust, that Fougeret. acting on the advice of his friends, had sent his seconds to the And to-morrow. ‘Jic would he on the field as calm and fareless as he had been j before. What better satisfaction could be given him? ^Nothing could be more agreeable, thought Fougeret, as he halted before his modest little house and turned the key in the door. ’ “At last. Armand;” said a soft voice coming from the kitdhen; “1 am so glad. Wait in the dining room; dinner is

ready.” \

I He entered the room.\ The table was set with four plates, and the rooui looked no coxy and pleasant that the young man gave vent to a contented sigh. The neat moment the door of the kitchen opened, revealing a dainty little woman. somewhat pale, with veay bine eye* and very , blonde hair, holding a smoking soup ' tureen, and followed by a 4-year-old baby, Vho solemnly brought up the rear

with tiro ladle.

“How is this?*' inquired Armand, sitting down and unrolling his napkin, after having tenderly kis*ed his wife and children; “youare waiting on the table?

Where is Rose?'

“Rose?' replied «ho little woman, with a shade of embarrassment, ‘ 'she has gone.

“I am glad to see yo Roses' arc going well, in the window? Thin

wlw ' what can I do for von tl a. " “CanR vou cucas?” it

replied Fougeret,

■'Money? The deuce," said the pubbrow clouding. "Always money. It seems to me that you have already drawn in advance.”

“True, but I go

"A duel?" interrupted the other, “with Saint-Landry for his article on the •Contes Roses,’ 1 uncertain. You are right, my friend. The article was in bad taste and it has affected our tale. Now, a duel, on the other hand, will be an excellent advertisement, and better still, will cost us nothing. All the morning papers will have the affair in fall, and in giving the origin of the quarrel will apeak of the book. An excellent ideaadmirable. Will ten 1 ouis be enough?” “Quite sufficient.” ••There they arc," said the publisher, ranging ten piece* of gold on his desk, while the clerk drew up a receipt. "A thousand thanks," said Fougeret, Wbegathered up the money. u S*t at all.” replied the other, placing the receipt in his desk, “you know X am always ready to oblige you. I count on ' at the Varieties to-morrow

shook the hand that was him and went out as S o'clock. Ti.o

Step to a lively operatic air that 'leuly whistled uptil be reached the swarm of public carriage* which crowd the streets of that quarter. Keeping in mind his friend's recommendation touch ,ing the selection of a driver, be hunted the carriage maaootyand instructed lowing, this mat a footsteps toward th. ion. did not se*-m he walked the details of the duels lie had already been engaged in. The first had been .--vcn year*earlier, at Savigny-snr-One, where he made his journalistic debut on oris of the local papers. Espousing the candidacy of the celebrated banker' Ncrirville the young joanfklist found himself angyed in fierce opposition to the Legitimist/wg* 0 - The cootroTfrsry wound up bn the field, where he w** wounded, but NoirviUe, elected by 7,000 majority, rewarded his follower with the assurance of Us protectiab Tbs second arose in the Bourse, where be appeared as Nosrrille's secretary. Hi* zealous interest in his patron won rapid mi i i^ilul huou involved him in a di»tte with a jealous colleague, who ought a .quarrel and found a sword brush The third occurred several; years been the affair be was just entering on. and close on iU heels came the ruin of hi* patroe. Koindlle, whoa* speculation* terminated with a redden crash. With tbs banker's fall went all his secretary's prospects, and Fougeret'* Utile fortune disappeared in the whirlpool. Theyoung hum. at first despondent, qtuchjy rallied from the blow, and set hi r the ground be » to rtrtwlt Of • * his courageous little wuc, waum as us-i wedded in the days of amlltag prosperity, and who dung to him closer than

••Sent her away?’ said Armand, suririaed, “and why?" “Sbo was dishonest," replied Claodine, •and 1 could not keep her. So 1 paid her a week in advance and dismissed her. You owe your dinner to U forget Yes," said Georget, gravely, "it was Don't yon like the soup, papa?" 'Excellent,”-declared Ann and; “I congratulate you on your skill. But," lowering his voice, “where did you get the money to pay her with?' “1 used what you gave me for th* house this week. 1 knew that since your new book is nearly finished you could go to your publisher to-morrow and ask an advance.” Armand trembled. “So we can get along nicely," continued his wife;S*I would rather wait until your novel was finished, but I do not think 1 am strung enough to go without eating until then. I have the will, hut not the substance, you know." “Bat you shall have the money," broke in Armand; “yon must not tire yourself unt. 1 will have it—1 will take it—SCO—900 francs, if you wish." “That will be better," said Claodine, with a charming air of content, “beenus* now I will hot-have .to part frith my piano. 1 wanted to keep it a secret from yon, but I found it a superfluous luxury, and-fhey wore coming to-morrow to take it away. With the 800 francs w* can get a none for the little one and so many other things." "* “I tee,” said Armand, with a sad amile, “that the money will not last very “But in three weeks your novel will be finished and then we shall he rich again. Then I shall have a new dress. Look, I have made this one over so many times that there is scarcely anything left to hold the threads together.” “Yes,” replied Armand, gazing at th* poor little threadbare gown, “I know-4 know." • "And you most have some new clothes, too,. my dear. And a new dress for Georget, Why, we will spend at leastfiftccu hundred franca” "Fifteen hundred francs.” repeated Armand, thoughtfully. “Y'ea It is a large sum fur us to spend now, dear. But your novel will bring ns at lean three thousand, and to think that it will be finished in twenty daya" “In twenty 'days," said Armand. repeating the word* in a mechanical man"Ah, how liappr we will be,"* said the little woman, her eyes sparkling at the prospect of the good fortune which aha beheld in prospect; "wo can pass th* summer at the seaside. AVurget shall have a pretty red cap arid w* will enjoy ourselves as wc did four years ago, when we were rich. Do yon remember how we* used to go crabbing and that big ferocious crab that frightened me so? It all comes hack to me again, and with it all the other pleasures 1 owe to you. Kiss me, my dear,” and the affectionate wife threw Iut arms about the neck of her husband, who embraced her teafferly. "But," raid CUudine, when she had disentangled herself from Armand* arms, “it' is 8 o'clock already. 1 must put baby to hod and wc that the house is safely locked. Bat first let me see you to your table." And .taking the lamp Claudiae preceded her husband into his little studio adjoining their bedchamber. ••There." she said, drawing near for a purling kiss, “until we meet again. Work quickly. Think that our happiness depends on those pages.” Claodine went out. Armand seized Ids'pm. but in spite of his effort* he found it impossible to write a single lina. Other thoughts, which refused to be bgnilhed. occupied his mind. Leaning

A light tap sounded on the door. ••Armand,’ said a »oft voice, “l am going to bad. Baby isaaleep. and 1 hare locked everything up safe and sure. Do

not work too late—you must not tire yourself, dear." The words recalled him from hi* reverie. He cast his eyes.on the'paper before him; it was blank, “Come," he muttered. “I must get to Work." and seizing a p-n bo wrote with ferrriab haste, filling fire or six po^es without raising his head. Suddenly ha Unpjied. He had just written these word*, placed by him in the mouth of one of the characters in his noval: “And if you are seeking a duel yon shall “A dueir he cried; “why 1 am going U> fight ooe myself.” . And a.vision of the morrow flashed before his eye*. 11* saw the clearing, the group second*, two men dressed in black facing each other and their pistab pointed toward the grass, waiting for the signal, while the sunbeams filtered through the trees and the birds on the branches chanted joyously— Suddenly the picture changed. A man, pale and with closed eyes, lay stretched on a litter, while on* of the carriers stood knocking at a door. The door was hi* own! And the woman who ran to meet the funeral cortege—the trembling creature who, with a terrible cry, threw herself on the corpse—he recognized. too. It was Claudioc. Armand r\>*e hastily and paced rapidly up and down the room. It was true. On the morrow he was to fight. On the morrow, pistol in hand, he would be risking his own life to take another's. Hi* life? Great God, did it belong to him? ifad he the right to dispose of it? Did he not owe it. as much as money, to those who depended upon him? Were he dead, what would be the fate of his wife and children, thrown helpless on the mercies of his terrible creditors? He had no money. There was not a hundred francs in the house. His sole fortune was in hi* pen. his talent, his brain. Where would they be to-morrow? And his little wife, so fragile, so dedicate, what was in store for her? The hospital? And after that? And his children—Georget, so bright, so happy, so intelligent; his little girl, his merry fairy —what would become-of them? Fougeret continued to pace nervously up and down the floor. The veins in his temples throbbed until they teemed on the point of bursting. He moistened hit handkerchief and wound it about hia bead. The cold water helped to cool hia burning brain. Now he taw It all dearer. He had exaggerated the situation; a duel was not necessarily fatal. Had he not already fought three of them, and wa» he not alive on the eve of the fourth? Yes; but then he was alone in the world. Hi* life wa* hir own; be had the right to dispose of it as he pleased. He had given no portion of his life to a wife; no children to leave behind, fatherless, pennlIca* and helpless. And as.these thought* again begun to surge through his Iti-ste he fancied he could see the shtwtefbarrel of a pistol, with the little, rotmd, dark hole aimed directly between hi*

eye*.

He tried in vain to change the current of his thought*. They refused to vanish. He was responsible for the care of those he loved. They lived by him, and they would perish without him. Th* ball that struck him would take more thais one life. There would be three other victim*—three to whom he owed love, happiness and bread. Good God, ho*# terrible it all was! But another idea, equally a* horrible, creased hi* mind. Hia honor! He knew his comrades and theincrednlous flaneurs of the boulerafa.--H«__ - heard their comments and their pitilcM ~ raillery. What word were they pronouncing? “A coward!" No. it w»* impossible. He surely would find soma one of hia companions who would dofend him. Men are good at heart; som* one would be found who could understand. “Armand," came aq anxious voicU from the adjoining room, "are yo* troubled? Y'ou have been talking to yourself for a whole hour. Yon are m4

iiir

“No, no..my dear," he replied, going to the -floor,- “do not worry. I—I an* “Ah, that is well," said Claodine, with . a sweet smile. Then, Ml tjke dropped her long lashes over her olumber heavy eyes, she murmured: “Think what— would became of u* — if you werw go—get' sick—the little ones—and mty Baby—is asleep. Good night—dear," and the loving wife resumed her inteS» rupted dream. At the other end of the room, safely tucked in his little crib, smiling saff - peaceful, with his little hands tightly clasped, little Georget slept. A sudden torrent of tears burst fren* Armand'* eye* and — mailed into his studio, seised a paper and wrote. The next morning at 10 Ad a rrproachaUy attired in black the field at Vezine* and with as air held out a letter ^ _ age, equallr anxious and m -Is it possible?" said the I "What, a message?" said the second. "The unfortunate man forgets that h* dishonors himself," said one. “And that his cowardice might reflect on ns," replied the other. “But that shall not happen," said both together. And with a grave air and measure-! step* the two men advanced toward a small group who were viewing the una* *ual proceedings with surprise. “Gentlemen." said one of the pair, speaking composedly in the midst of a general silence, “we regret to announca that our principal and former friend, K. Armand Fougeret, will not be on the field today. He will not fight. ••It is scarcely necessary for me ta add.” he continued, replacing his hat oa his bead with a sweeping gesture, “that, aa for us, we are entirely at your serv, ice.”—Argonaut, from the French of Pierre Decourcelle.

•‘Y*a That's what she said."—Rackety