of the pretty black curls. But his Damon
was by his side to slap him on the back and cheer him up.

"Courage, old fellow!" cried Mr. Warden; "all's not lost that's in
danger. Turn and turn about; your turn next."

But, somehow, Tom didn't care for revenge any more. He loved that
wicked, jilting little Fanny as much as ever; and the heartache only
grew worse day after day; but he ceased to desire vengeance. He settled
down into a kind of gentle melancholy, lost his appetite, and his relish
for Tom and Jerrys, and took to writing despondent poetry for the weekly
journals. In this state Mr. Warden left him, and suddenly disappeared
from town. Tom didn't know where he had gone, and his landlady didn't
know; and stranger still, his bootmaker and tailor, to whom he was
considerably in arrears, didn't know either. But they were soon
enlightened.

Five weeks after his mysterious disappearance came a letter and a
newspaper, in his familiar hand, to Tom, while he sat at breakfast. He
opened the letter first and read:

IN THE COUNTRY.

"DEAR OLD BOY--I have kept my word--you are avenged gloriously.
Fanny will never jilt you, nor any one else again!"

At this passage in the manuscript, Tom Maxwell laid it down, the cold
perspiration breaking out on his face. Had Paul Warden murdered her, or
worse, had he married her? With a desperate clutch Tom seized the paper,
tore it open, looked at the list of marriages, and saw his worst fears
realized. There it was, in printers' ink, the atrocious revelation of
his bosom friend's perfidy.

"Married, on the fifth inst., at the residence of the bride's
father, Paul Warden, Esq., of New York to Miss Fanny Summers,
second daughter of Mr. John Summers, of this town."

There it was. Tom didn't faint; he swallowed a scalding cup of coffee at
a gulp, and revived, seized the letter and finished it.

"You see, old fellow, paradoxical as it sounds, although I was the
conqueror, I was, also, the conquered. Fanny had fallen in love
with me, as you foresaw, but I had fallen in love with her also,
which you didn't foresee. I might jilt her, of course, but that
would be cutting off my own nose to spite my friend's face; and
so--I didn't! I did the next best thing for you, though,--I married
her! and I may mention, in parenthesis, I am the happiest of
mankind; and as Artemus Ward remarks