The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, May 21, 1905, Page 9

¢ "/ INCE dawn the %louds had been gathering, and it was still early when there in an_all day's rain. Man and beast turned lo- ward shelter, and the muffled bird sat against the protect- tree. Along the road ler had no need to urge his rse, for onward the animal eager to reach a dry place i from the surly clouds, where shut he might stand to It was on a Saturday. Toward y of promise, of happiness, in woods along the creek, the had fondly looked; but now hope had been drenched with nd bedraggied. The door of 1 schoolhouse had never ather latchstring en d about, things of loathing now years to come, in the drizzling urky age, to be looked back angel wings that sweetly d the perfumed hours away. With finger dipped in ink a grammar- hating boy had written on the wall his name, destined perhaps in future years to give authority to many a doc- ument of state. Several men coming from different directions approached the house, hast- ening to get under cover; and soon within there were gathered old Limuel and some of his friends. . bout as moist a day as I've seen me time,” said he, spreading his pping shawl on the back of a bench. And it’s goin’ to interfere with spring plowin’,” Brizintime replied, sit- ting down with a sigh. “That sigh, Briz, comes from the fact that you ain’t a doin' of the plowin’ yourself,” said Lim. X what difference does that Lim?” “A good deal, T tell you. The man that does the plowin' 1sn't likely to sigh over the fact that rain drives him to the house for a few hours’ rest.” “I'm not that lazy,” Briz replied. “Oh, no; you-ain't lazy at all; but lots of men that are not la% are willin’ enough to see it rain when we don't particularly need the moisture, if it gives them an opportunity to sit down. Now the only real enjoyment thatsa person has in this life is in thinkin’. Pleasure is in the mind, you know, and am very sorry it cannot be ar- | ranged,” said the young man with a deprecatory wave of his hand, “but—"" “All the latest popular novels! Last chance to get your reading mat- ter! No books sold on train after it starts!” The newsboy bawled this in Amy Curtis’ ear and she lost all the ycung man said except the words can’t climb those beastly steps.” Not that she cared! She was quite able to climb the little ladder to the upper berth. Her lip curled scorn- fully. “Oh, it doesn’t thatter in the least, you know. It was the conductor's idea, I assure you. Only in the<South, where I come from, men as a rule are more obliging.” She picked up her novel and pro- cceded to ignore McKean's presence. Hc looked at her blankly, then flung himself down the sleeper to the smok- ing compartment. “Well, I do think she’s a bit harsh!” He pulled out a paper and tried to forget the scorn in the eyes but recently lifted to meet his In the meantime the girl in section 7 stared wrathfully at the letters in her book, which fairly danced before her eyes. “A nice beginning for my trip. I never wanted to gv to Colorado Springs anyhow. I had much better re- sined at Bar Harbor than to let the Carters inveigle me into coming West.” ‘With this final reflection she com- menced to read in earnest, but some- how her mind went back to the very digagreeable young man who had dis- regarded the sleeping-car canductor’s HASTENED TO GET UNDER COVER with the rain tnere comes a certain atmospheric condition that somehow fetches a man closer up to hig’ mind. Thought more creative on a rainy day. Great puoetry don't come out of but out of ‘the mist and the sunshine, the rain.” w I, I don't know about that,”™ un a fellow named Talbert. There was Jim Horn Pike, that lived down in my neighborhood. He set right out on the railin’ of the bridge, in the sunshine, and writ poetry about the fight they had over at the dance at Tarver’s, and he found a word to rhyme with every name, too. ‘Squire Goodall said it was about as good poetry as he had read that spring, and the 'squire is a scholar—saw him add up two columns of figgers at once.” 0ld Limuel smiled. *Poetry is mys- tery and there isn't any mystery in sunshine,” said he. “The cradle song is the sweetest and most appealin’ be- cause it is sung in the nigbt when there is mystery away out on the hill- side and along the creek. A rainy day is the time of man’s greatest creation. It is then that the doors of his mind are open—when he is most willin’ to receive as guests the ideas that are wanderin’ about in the air. And did you ever notice that nearly all folks are of the same age when they sit, a listenin’ to the rain?” “I haven’t made any such—such no- ticement as that,” said Briz. “I reckon not,” Lim replied. “But some of the most beautiful truths of the soul have escaped the notice of a good many men. When the strings on the fiddle are in tune they are all of an age, until one of them breaks. A rainy day seems to tune the strings of this life; and the boy and the old man, listenin’ to the patter and the drip—breathin’ the softened breath that comes from the woods, from the undiscovered caves, from the nooks where the birds live—the boy and the man in their meditative silence are of the same age. The mind turns back- ward, and the mind that can go back no further than a few years seems just as old as the mind that flies back over half a century. That's the way it seems, you understand, and although we are told that things are not what they seem, yvet the thing that seems is an illustration of the truth, the spirif- ualizin’' of a fact—nobler sometim: than the bare truth, for it gives scope ggroanin’. and speculation to the fancy. Look at each one of you now, in a dream, caused by the cloudsy the soothin® pat- ter of the water. Life, they say, is a THE GIR request that he yield the lower berth to the young woman, whose Pullman ticket had been duplicated by a care- less employe in an up-town office. She could not forget the real regret in his eyes, nor the nervous, embarrassed way in which he had smoothed ‘his hair while he was offering his halting #£x- planation. She could not reconcile this, however, with the fact that he had de- clined to climb the little steps in her stead. It was most annoying, she ar- gsued, that she could not rorget a cer- tein fascination which his long, firm hand had held, for her. And the hair he had smoothed. . She did pot see him in wntil she entered the diner at d . The only place left for her was a single seat at a table meant for four. The three pas- sengers already seated were men, talk- ing business in rather loud tones. Amy hesitated. A figure at the table oppo- site rose suddenly.- The very disagree- able young man who had sentenced her to the upper berth was standing beside her, . “Pake my place,” he said eagerly, “gna I will sit over there with the men.” He had been occufying a seat at one of the small tables, and a gray- haired woman was sitting opposite him. Amy saw all this at a glance, and with a surprised uplifting of her eye- brows and a mechanical “thank you,” accepted the seat. The young man had not yet been served, and she real- ized that the change had not embar- AN WAE, ABOUT GET A DREAM AFTER THA' SHE \/ E A g&m\ANYTHI{iG DONE- A JAE'D CALL OUT- B TO TAB “ € J0 TA, " COME Now 777 (4 7 7 dream; and the rainy day is the dream of the dream. It is nature playin' music for herse}f.” “‘Brings on aches and pains,” said Briz. “The aches and pains come just be-. fore the rain,” Lim replied. *“And the rain comes to cure them. Briz. I don’t see how it is that you can work up enough imagination to worship the Lord. You are about as matter-of-fact a cuss as I ever saw. Do- you ever dream when you're asleep?” “Yes, dreamed tuther: night and‘I woke up 4 hollerin’, and wife she yell- ed at me. I dreamed that I was snake bit; and there’s somethin’ in dreams, too. I tell you, for the very next day a’ snake struck at me. lieve Lim?" “‘Oh, yes. Now there was Tab Mose- ley. One evenin' about sundown his well caved in and it worried him nightily, for he hated to clean out a well worse than any mhn you ever saw. He went to bed early to get it off his mind and some time after he dropped off to sleep his wife heard him a But she didn't pay any at- tention to him, She was mad at him in advance, for she knew he was goin' to pegléet the well. In the mornin’ she had to call Tab three or four 1 Don’t you be- there’s somethin’ in dreams, rassed him in the least, g “Quite willing to do things that do not incommode him,” she thought scornfully. The young man did not presume upon the reception of 'this courtesy. Directly after dinner he once more retired to the smoking compartment, and Amy early ordered the porter to make up her berth. Once tucked snug- ly away she forgot her grievance. The steady clunk-clunk of the wheels was a singular lullaby to which she soon yielded. % It seemed as if she had not been asleep more than three minutes when she awoke to the most horrible noises that she had ever heard. What had happened? Had the train run info a circus or a jungle of wild beasts?. No, the train was still moving. Its unre- mitting “clunk-clunk” could be heard at intervals between the awful sotunds which now assailed her ears. If it was' not wild beasts, then maybe some one around her was dving. This pretty, carefully reared, ever- protected - Southern girl had never seen any one die and in her ignorance of this and various other matters she was working herself up into a fine frenzy. A particularly deep and agon- ized .roar was followed by a sound that. was a cross between a penny whistle and a sob. She. cquld stand the suspense no longer. She pushed the tiny button and carefully arrang- ing the curtains, stuck out her head to meet the look of inquiry in the por- 3 3 L IN SECTION times before he'd get up to breakfast,' and when. he came he stretched and groaned and complained of bein’ tired. But she didn't pity him any, for she knew it was an excuse {8 get out of the work that stared him in the face that day. She asked him if he was a goin’ to clean out the well, and bhe hemmed and hawed and said that he didr't feel able. She lit into him and told him he wasn’t any account. And he said, ‘All right, I'll acknowledge l_t SEVEN | RROSS: ter's black face. Up and down the car she gave a hasty glance. Apparently no one else realized the tragedy that was going on so close at hand, for no olper curtains were swaying, no other heads were thrust out. “Sumfin’ you want, miss?" “Why—why don’t you hear that dreadful noise?” she said. “I think some one in the berth next to me is dying:” vy In the dim light she could.see the darky’s teeth gleam jvory white in a grin that reached from ear to ear. “It's just the gentleman in the lower berth, miss, snoring. I will wake him up. Soon as he rolls over he’ll stop.” Up in her eyrie Amy lay, still flush- ing hotly with mortification. She knew that porter would teli everybcdy on tire train next morning. She wished she could change cars. Then suddenly from the berth below the hated sound rose again. Evidently there was no respite from this infliction, and oddly enough she felt herself pitying the man who was Tesponsible for it. It ‘was really a disease, she decided, and he was so young, too. The next morning she met him face to face in the dining car. Her cheeks were flooded with crimson. She knew: by the quizzical light in his eyes that he had heard of her mistake, and undoubtedly every one on the car knew it by this time and would consider it a fine joke. % She ate her breakf: in a resentful h@mor, She fe!t recKléss and miser- able, and it may have been this mood which caused her to sway uncertainly as she crossed from the diner back to She reached out a hand herself against the side of ule. Suddenly it seemed to her as if a sharp, red-hot iron had been t*,ust into her finger tip and run up to her shoulder. She tried to draw away her hand as a child does from a. hot stove, but something held ‘it tight, and then she awoke to the truth. The train “had been ‘swinging around a curve, and the iron pleats or folds of the vestibule, left uncovered by a care- less employe, had opened just far enough to admit her finger and then had closed upon it again. ' She was held as in a vise, and her calls for assist- ance could not be heard above the roar of the train. And so it happeped that the “hateful young man' came upon her, white lipped and fainting. When they had pried the hand loose-he car- ried her unconscious figure into the va- cant drawing room. The conductar came hurrying up, greatly perturbed over the accident, which meant a dam- age suit for the company. He turhed to the porter. 2 “Hustle through the train and find out whether there is a physician on board.” The young man spoke sharply. “I am a physician. Porter, bring me that long, narroy, black bag from my berth.” - HE \sF OF THE BRIDGE : AND WRIT FOEIRY ' if you want me to, but Fll be blowed if I'm goin’ to fool with that infernal weil to-day.” They . quarreled . and snapped, at each .other for some time and finally went out toward the well, still a quarrelin’, and then they looked at -each other in: silént astonishment, for there wwas the well cleaned out and thé stones all putup in the right place. ‘Well, 'l be hanged if I didn’t dream that [ worked at this thing all night,” said Tab, and his wife, she tittered and "lowed: ‘You got up in your sleep and went to work at it, and knowin" that you never would do it except in your dreams I just let you dream on.’ And ever after that when she wanted apything. done about the house shed call out to Tab, ‘Come, now, get a dream on you.'- Yes, Briz, there's a good deal in dreams—in . rainy-day dreams. Who knows but that the greatest progress of the world can be traced te the rainy days? Ome hour of thought can lay out enough to keep 1000 hours busy with action. The rainy day is the architect of the build- ings .that go up in the sunshine. "And 1 want to say this to you young fel- lers: If the girl you go to see :loves the rainy 8ay, she has soul and is to be tied to. If she hates the rain, it is because her mind is set on gaddin’ about and therefore beware of her. Companions _in rain — companions everywhere. Make it a point to do your courtin’ durin’ rainy weather. After all, it is the soul that makes things bright, and there is nothin® so beautiful as a light heart shinin” through the gloom. What are you dreamin’ -about, Briz?” “Why, I was a thinkin’ about that feller that worked in his sleep. I would like to have him learn me how it comes, for I'd do all my work that way. Well, I giess I'd better be goin’, rair or no rain. The chances are my wife’ll be as mad as a wet hen when 1 git home."” *1 reckon you must have done your courtin® durin’ a drouth,” said old ‘Lim. - (Copyrighted, 1905, by Opie Read.) And so it happened when Amy awoke up it was to find the hateful young man deftly bandaging her in- jured hand. The drawing room was placed at her disposal by the anxious conductor, and the entire train force was on its knees before her. McKean bit his lip. “I was afraid you wouldn't. ‘That was the worst part of my having to put Mr. Carter in the berth with you, but I couldn't get him another lower in the car, and he stubbornly refused to buy up a drawing room.” Amy feit suddenly wide awake. “Mr. Carter. Why didn't you—" ; Lord no! You didn't think I was raising the roof of my berth, did you? Mr. Carter has been at a sanitarium just east of Harrisburg. He is a pa- tient of my father's and his people asked me to pick him up and bring him on to Colorado Springs, where I am visiting for a week or so. That's what I was trying to tell you last mght.” A sudden light dawned on Amy. “Oh! it's all the fault of that newsboy. I am going to the Carters myself. They're giving a house party.” “Yes, I know,” said McKean. “I saw your name on your luggage, but now you're' going to sleep, and if you don’t mind I shall sit here beside you and see you are not rocked off when we make a fast run.” Amy dropped back weakly among the pillows. “No, I don’t mind. I will be only too glad to have—you—stay.” Suddenly she raised her-heavy eyelids, “but promise me vou will never tell what—I said to the porter last nigh: Dr. McKean’s eyes twinkled. promise on my honor.” (Copyright, 1305, by T. C. McClure.) oy LA 78\