That night the diminutive lamp that did duty in the room assigned to the two brothers burned till long past the hour of midnight. By its dim light, Ned Rutherford indited a letter to his fiancee, while his brother quietly paced back and forth, the entire length of the small apartment, his hands clasped behind him and his head thrown back,––his usual attitude when in deep thought.
“Getting up another article on the application of electric force?” inquired Ned, as he paused to watch his brother.
“No,” was the reply, “I am thinking at present of a force far more subtle and more powerful than that of electricity.”
“Why, how’s that?” asked Ned in surprise, “I thought electricity was one of your pet hobbies.”
“Never mind about my pet hobbies,” said his brother, with a smile, “just continue your writing for the present.”
Half an hour later, as Ned folded and sealed the voluminous letter, and placed upon it the long, foreign address, his brother, watching him with a curious half smile, said:
“I shall have to give you credit for a great deal of constancy, Ned, more than I really supposed you possessed.”
“How’s that?” asked Ned, with a slight blush, “to what do you refer.”
“To your fidelity to your affianced,” Morton replied, “under the rather adverse circumstances that attend your suit, and notwithstanding the unusual attractions by which you have been surrounded here.”
“Well, as to that,” said Ned, slowly, “I don’t know as I deserve so very much credit. Houston appropriated Miss Gladden to himself pretty soon after we came here, and besides, she isn’t exactly my style, after all; she would suit Houston a great deal better than me.”