3.5. A ROMANCE—ONLY A MECHANIC.
In a sumptuously furnished parlor in Fifth Avenue, New York, sat a proud and haughty belle. Her name was Isabel Sawtelle. Her father was a millionaire, and his ships, richly laden, ploughed many a sea.
By the side of Isabel Sawtelle sat a young man with a clear, beautiful eye, and a massive brow.
"I must go," he sed, "the foreman will wonder at my absence."
"The FOREMAN?" asked Isabel in a tone of surprise.
"Yes, the foreman of the shop where I work."
"Foreman—shop—WORK! What! do YOU work."
"Aye, Miss Sawtelle! I am a cooper!" and his eyes flashed with honest pride.
"What's that?" she asked; "it is something about barrels, isn't it!"
"It is!" he said, with a flashing nostril. "And hogsheads."