The Butler Weekly Times Newspaper, January 11, 1906, Page 11

Es a ER _ ae ne mr ene me te Jim Bannister jumped out of the train, his black bag in his hand, and his eyes went ranging up and down the platform in search of his wife and children. They generally were there to meet him when he came down from town on Friday evening. Finding that} they were not visible, he left the sta- tion and took the road that led away from the town and the harbor towards the new suburb which had of late years set up in business as a watering place. It was cheap and healthy, and the boys liked to go down to the harbor and see the ships and talk to the sailors. Bannister soon got out of town, for he was walking fast, but as the road began to rise his pace became slower till, as he neared the bend where the! road turned toward the cluster of red brick villas, he was going quite leisurely. A man was sitting on the stile at the corner—a tramp, he seemed to be. Bannister frowned, He was a hard- working man himself, and he did not like tramps—perhaps envied them a little, His face assumed a stern look as he went along. As he approached the man got up and came slowly toward him. Yes, he was a tramp; there could be no doubt of jt. His rough pilot cloth trousers idea of any girl waiting five years for an absent lover, without a word = e could have laughed at the idea of any woman waiting for the human wreck He could have laughed at the eager look on the man’s half-savage show that he yet cared for her. at his side, face as he put his absurd question. But there was a pathetic | brown eyes, and Bannister laugh. As he kept on looking the in- clination to laugh died away altogether. Instead, he gave the answer that seemed to him at the moment the only possible one to give, “A girl would wait ten years—twenty years—for the man she loved, That is, I am cer- tain of it. I know it by my—I mean I am sure of it, from women I have known, Time makes no difference in their love. And absence only makes them love if she were a true woman, more strongly.” “You really think so?” asked the tramp, in a choking voice, “I do.” The tramp stood still. “I am giad to hear you say that,” he “IT am glad I asked you the question, You have put new life And he said. huskily. into me. Good-night, sir.” was turning away, “This will get you a bed and some “AND I HAVE BEEN WAITING.” were worn and stained. He wore no shirt, for the old tweed jacket was but- toned up to the neck, On his head was a battered soft felt hat; on his feet a pair of coarse seaman's shoes, He stopped as he drew near the re- spectable man with the black bag, but he did not say @ word, Bannister looked at him. Their eyes met, and the unspoken appeal was more elo- quent than any words could have been. Plainly the man was a derelict. So clear was the expression in the man’s face that Bannister answered him as if he had spoken, “Sorry I have nothing for you.” The man’s swarthy cheeks flushed. “Did I ask you for-anything?” he said, Then the next instant: “I beg your pardon. I am wrong. I did, though not in so many words.” “You look as if you needed help,” Jim said awkwardly, “Then my looks only tell the truth,” said the derelict, and as he spoke he smiled. The smile startled. Bannister, This was the face of a cultiyated man, of what one calls a gentleman, dirty and unshaven as it was. He felt that he could not offer this tramp & copper. “I am sorry,” he said hastily, “but I can’t stop toshear your atory to- ht—" K- 4 I offer to tell it?” said the man mly. “No. Yet I should like to hear it.” “[ don’t see the object of my telling it. It 1s a very common one, I quar- reled with my best friend, an uncle. He treated me unjustly, or I thought he did. So I ran away to Australia to seck my fortune, and I found—this.” He ended with a rueful downward glance at his tattered raiment, “So you made your way back to the old country?” Bannister said, absently fingering the coins in his trousers pocket, “Yee—and to the old town, And now that | have got here I can’t find the courage to speak to a soul, You see, 1 and I friends supper,” said Bannister, handing him a silver coin. to the giver. “I should like to send this back to “Will you you when I can,” he said. tell me your name?” Bannister. He waved his hand and was gone. The tramp leaned over a gate, think- ing. He could see the chimneys of the house that had been his uncle’s, the house he had hoped would one day be It belonged to Charley Hud- son now. So he had been told in the his own. town, waiting for him all these years? burn. It seemed impossible, too much to expect from any girl. that man—what was his name? likely. He must find out. might make inquiries. of her. Another thing—he must send back that money to Bannister as soon But how was he to tind him? He knew the man’s name, but not his address; and he was only a He might not be able to repay the money for weeks. He turned and began running after Ban- nister as well as his clumsy shoes would let him. A little ahead there was a bend in the road, and he felt sure that once around that corner he as possible, summer visitor. would catch sight of him. nister, but he was not alone. rapidly to meet him, darted her, father’s arms. came clese together. it. It was not till her face. Margaret! His heart stood still. belie’ in the id not} The tramp looked from the money “You needn't mind, but my name is We are staying here for the-rest of the month. Good-night.” But Margaret had preferred him, though some called him a ne’er-do- well. Was it possible that she had been The very thought made his heart It was Yet Ban- nister—he had seemed to think it quite He must get some decent clothes so that he Some one in the town must know what had become He turned the corner, and saw Ban- A girl in a light gray costume was coming Two children from her side, and outrunning threw themselves into their The two, the man and the woman, She held up her face, and he stopped and kissed then that he saw He would not it. Had not the man said——?| Bay. self. He could hear the man's voice now, and he crouched lower, lest he might be seen. “The poor fellow actually asked me if I thought a girl would wait five years for an absent lover, and I hadn't the heart to say what I thought. I said: *‘Yes—twenty years!’ Poor |chap, I suppose he fancies somebody is waiting for him.” The voice ceased; and the tramp, peering out from his hiding place, saw that Margaret had withdrawn her hand from the man’s arm, and was walking a little apart from him. _ “So she hasn't told him anything about me. Naturally!” said the tramp to himself. - He got back to the road, and thrust- ing his hand into his pocket, his fingers | closed on the piece of money. In an- other instant he had dashed it down on the road, and was hastening back to the harbor. That night he spent in an outhouse. The next day, driven by hunger, he went to a tarm house, asking for work, but hoping te get some food. The farmer, by way of a joke, offered him a job, and seemed surprised when he jumped at the offer. By degrees the tramp began to as- sume the appearance of a decent working man, He wore moleskins in- stead of his old rags; on week-days he worked hard; but on Sundays he tened to the surf breaking on the beach, and dreamed. One Sunday afternoon, a little mite, three or four years old, got surround- ed by the tide as she was building a castle on the sand. There was not a shadow of danger, but it was im- possible to reach her dryshod. The tramp waded through the water, picked up the child, and looked areund for her mother. It was Margaret who dropped her book and came flying over the sands —Margaret! He put the little one down gently, and turned away, In a moment thero was a pattering of soft footsteps behind him. “Won't you let me thank you-—? Oh, Alan, it is you! Don't you know me?” “Yes Margaret, I know you, but I thought I had better keep away from you, I've treated you badly, precious badly. But I can’t stand by and see you another man's wife.” “Aunt Margaret! Auntie! Me want ‘oo!” piped a childish voice. Alan Dean gave a great start. His heart beat wildly. “What?” he cried. “You are not the child's mother? You are not Mr, Bannister's wife?” “No, No, Alan. ried my sister. came back, and I waited!” “Your uncle found out after you had gone,” Margaret said, as they made their way slowly homeward a good hour afterwards, “that he was quite wrong. He had made a mistake in the accounts, and you were perfectly honest. He bitterly repented his words to you and would have writ- ten if he had known where to address you, He told me so himself. And to show that he was convinced that he had misjudged you he left you a half share of everything he had. The house is yours, and the farm with it.” “Why, I thought Charley Hudson was to have that. He was the favorite, you know.” “Yes, but your uncle thought he owed you some reparation for think ing you had cheated him, and so driving you away from home. He died almost four years ago. My sister had been married some time before that.” “And you, my dearest? What have you been doing?” “Oh, I live in London now. I have pupils. And, I have been—waiting.” He turned suddenly and caught her to his breast. “Please God, my little girl,” he whispered, as he strained her yet closer to him, “our waiting days are nearly over!” — EIGHTIETH BIRTHDAY, Mother of Captain Gridley, of Dewey's Flagship, Holds Reception. Mrs, Ann E. Gridley held a reception at her home in Washington, in Decem- ber, in celebration of her eightieth birthday anniversary, The parlors were decorated in red with palms dis- tributed about the rooms, making a pretty appearance. Although an octogenarian, Mrs. Grid- ley is a well-preserved and active old lady, and discourses interestingly up MRS, ANN E. GRIDLEY. on the remarkable changes which have come under her observations of sev- enty years. Mrs. Gridley is the mother of the late Gridley, whe commanded flagship Olympia of Admiral Dewey's fleet in the naval action of Manila went and lay on the sand and lis-| spo Jim Bannister mar- | I—I knew you would | CAMERO. WATERLOO. And This Is a True Newspaper Story of Washington, When he came into the office even | the Angel Child knew he was looking |for a job, It was written all over him, from the brim of his rusty hat to the tips of his well-worn shoes. And this is a true newspaper story of Washing ton. The city editor knew what was com- ing, but refrained from signifying it until the request had been made. “Nothing doing,’ said the city editor, “unless you can help out on sports. We need somebody there just now.” “Well, I can do a littie of that,” Cam. eron said, and so he came to work on The News. Nobody knew where he hailed from, and the Bohemian spirit which rules the newspaper profession prompted no one to ask. Somebody noticed his shabby clothes, concluded his bank ac count was not in working order, and a “silent fund,” subscribed by the staff, went to pay his board bill for two weeks and to put him on his feet. He wrote sports, and soon aroused the newspaper fraternity by his wide knowledge of athletics and his supreme command of a vocabulary of slang the like of which had never been heard before, and which formed the basis for today’s wonderful dictionary of rt terms. He first distinguished himself by a daily series of baseball paragraphs which soon made the sport page of The News one of the most conspicuous fea- tures of the paper. A still more brilliant achievement was in store for him, and a still great- er surprise for the public, when one night the dramatic editor became ill and for sheer want of some ene better te send the city editor told Cameron to cover Irving's performance of “Robespierre” at the National Theatre. To the utter amazement of the entire staff, The News carried the next day a review of the performance which was a masterpiece of English in all its pur- ity and splendid scope. Cameron was the only man who was not surprised in the sensation the review caused. He knew he could do it; the others didn't. Cameron's versatility was marked In unremitting and far-reaching use of profanity Cameron found no takers, It just rolled out, and those who got to know Cameron best attempted nothing that savored of reform. He had not been on the paper two weeks before his reputation for profanity had left all others at the post, and the occa- sional expressions of disgruntlement on the part of others sounded like the tinkle of a cow bell beside the rum bling flow of chosen words from Cam- eron when he was annoyed. The boys didn’t mind, but they quailed to think of what might happen if demure little Mrs, Parish, the social editor, ever heard Cameron swear. They dreaded the consequences, al- though nobody could really tell just what the result might be. Cameron was a confirmed wéman hater. He declared women to be the supreme nuisances of the earth and absolute impossibilities in business. That they should intrude into newspa- per work and so hamper man's per formance of his duties in a worthy call ing he regarded with sincere contempt and unbiased scorn. ’ Mrs. Parish, on the contrary, was a gentlewoman to the tips of her fin gers. Her slow, deliberate manner of speech bespoke her gentle Southern ancestry and gave some indication of her fine womanly character. Despite his profound antagonism to ward the gentler sex, Cameron thought enough of his position on the paper not to offend Mrs. Parish. One day, however, he came into the office from a baseball game. “The home team had lost, the day was hot, and, as if to add to Cameron’s ill humor, he the center of the room, her exchanges completely covering what little space might have been left for anyone else. With one sweep of his arm Cameron sent the papers flying to every corner of the room, saying: “To hell with all this rot!” room held his breath, expecting a scene. Mrs. Parish, manifestly sur prised, looking calmly, first at the pa pers, then at Cameron, and in her slow. gentle voice, as if she were repeating her charming “Good afternoon!” she said: “That's what I say, Mr. Cameron. ‘To hell with all this rot!’e But you know if I don’t do it I don’t get my dinner. But just the same, I feel as you do, and when I go to some of these society people’s houses and they com- pel me to talk with their servants rather than see me themselves, I say, ‘To hell with them!’” Cameron looked like a man over board. He gathered up the papers from the floor one by one. A sheepish look that had never been there before came over his face, and when he had care fully piled the papers on the table be fore Mrs. Parish he said, loud enough for the entire room to hear: “You keep your and as long as you please, and the first fellow who interferes with you I'll kick him full of holes.” qo SHE WORE ONLY SANDALS. Pittsburg Society Shocked at Emi- nent Singer Who Does Not Believe in Wearing Stockings. It is not considered proper to enter high society in Pittsburg without stockings on. Because she appeared without stockings at a reception given by society women of the East End, Madame Maria Sandal-Bramsen, head ef the vocal department of instruc- the|tien at a fashionable musical school and wife of F. Celoste, of the Pittsburg Orchestra, has set the tongue of gos- sip wagging. FREE! LADIES THIS Handsome Fur scart GIVEN AWAY ame and address and we will send you free and pos! 24 pieces of our jewelry novelties to sell at 10 ceatseach. Everybody you show them to will buy them of you. When sold send us the $2.40 and we will at once send you this Handsome Fur Scart It is nearly 48 inches long, made from black Lynx fur, bas six full, bushy tabs, very latest style, and we know you will be’ more thaa pleased with it. When you receive it we know you will say it is the most elegant and ly good fur you have ever seen. Noth’ ilar thas ever before been offered a: will give years of satisfactory wear, dressy effect to the wearer's appe: we can offer them is we hada large number o} up tor us by one of the large furriers during the when trade was quiet; this is the only reason we ar ¢ such an expensive premium, We hope yo will dvantage of our offer without delay. This rdinary offer and cannot be duplicated by any other reliable concern, We trust you with our Jewelry until sold, It costs you nothing to get this fur, Address, COLUMBIA NOVELTY CO., TIE DANGER OF FILTH. Crusade of New England Women to Encourage Cleanliness in Streets, Houses, Bodies, Clothes, Food and Drink. The Woman's Health Club, of Boston, is doing an excellent work in the in- terests of public health by the publi- cation of its booklets on hygienic sub- jects, and particularly by those which teach the great doctrine of cleanliness. it is to be confessed that they will) never reach the great mass of free- born naturalized American citizens who never read anything—not even a yellow newspaper. Yet they will ac: | complish much in the direction of ed- it is but a century since London itself | was worse than a barnyard, At the! rivers there will soon not be a clean! stream east of the Rocky Mountains. By all means let the crusade go on, | found Mrs. Parish at the big table in| Everybody heard. Every man in the) apers here when | more substantial assistance. Pussy Cat Rhyme. | Can you tell me why | A hypocrite sly | Can better descry | Than you can or I On how many toes A pussy cat goes? A hypocrite neat Can best counterfeit, And so I suppose Can best count her toes, ———— The Value of an Acre. According to a statement prepared by a statistician, to sustain one person on fresh meat, 22 acres of land are required. lf, however, this same }amount of land be devoted to wheat culture it would feed 42 people; if to oats, 88; and if to potatoes, Indian corn and rice, 176 people. ————- A Happy Problem. Pardon me, but I ought to tell you that Jones has run away with your wife. 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Mme. Sandal-Bramsen does not be-| | eaaees < eee nal Interest, such a4, the Rae Telegraphy, side by side, for Bannister was anxious} Was it Margaret? He did not feel Beats Hanging. lieve in wearing stockings, and has Aleskan Boundary Decisien—all have their places in thes moet’ modern to get home. quite sure, now that her back was| | Bs - not worn them since, when a girl of | f] work. Inshort, there is much later and better information in this eet than | should like to ask your opinion| turned to bim. But he felt that he| “James,” said the teacher, “do you! fourteen, her singing caught the fancy | }] in™any.amuch mote Dien ihe agent, will all And it the ideal know what capital punishment is?” “Yes, ma’am,” said Tommy, “It’s when a fellow is naughty, and his mother shuts him up the pantry about one thing,” said the derelict, ab- ruptly. “Well, what is it?” must know at once. At one side of the road there was a thick hedge, and a field on the of King Oscar of Sweden, who paid for*her education in the Conservatory of Music at Christiana. Mme. Bram- sen came to Pittsburg with her hus- » the modern times, where concise, accurate, up=to-dete Recs bo had on every subject ‘without wasting words on WB GUARANTEB SATISFACTION where she keeps the cake and jam.” |) ang six weeks ago. ‘We will send the h volumes to Bg my Since then she has been in popular pleased, send them It fs calculated that there are 2,198 fig. andi you te oof the rotund the emount wonien journalists in the United paid by you. States, 1,200 in Germany and 600 in egy Pyeng: A ealaee ine’ on these are en- writing or editing fashion demand at society functions, but no one ever suspected her antipathy to hosiery until this reception at the Mu- sical Institute, when a careless little movement of the singer’s gown dis- closed a bare and dainty little foot in- closed In a sandal of ancient pattern, .