[Copyright, 18M, by the Author.]
I have hinted to you that I believed
if ever the Old Beau told me his own
story it would be the story of stories.
There was something about the man,
through all uiy acquaintance with him,
which had impressed me with the feel
ing that his whole life had been one
long tragedy. Yet, there was no
more gonial, companionable man in all
the club, lie was replete with anec
dote, with gentle humor, with the
quality that is known as "the milk of
human kindness," as 3-011 may have
gathered from some of these tales that
i have told you. Yet, there was a cer
tain grave under-current in the man
that had often caused me to wonder at
its reason. While I desired his story,
with all the keen avidity that a news
paper man *l. capable of, I had firmly
muiic up 1113* mind that 1 would never
suggest this desire to him- for I was
confident the tale would come of his
own accord some duy. And it did.
In the lighted street in front of the
club, I was approached one night 1)3- a
miserable vagrant who asked me for
alms.* Not from charit3% but because
it was the easiest \vll3*, 1 put my hand
in my pocket and gave him a coin. As
I handed it to him, the Old Beau came
down .the steps, lie paused as though
turned to stone when he saw the beg
gar, and grew all white, like one who
is suddenly struck with death. And
the beggar, seeing him, stayed the
hand that had been stretched forth for
the coin, and leered at him and called
him jeeringly by name. I stood look
ing from one to the other, knowing
that 1 was witnessing the culminating
scene of a great drama, 3 r et powerless
to comprehend its meaning. After a
pause that was, doubtless, not more
than a moment, but that had spun out
infinitely in my imagination, my
triend came down the steps slowly,
and placed his hand on my shoulder.
His vo'ce was quiet, but vibrated with
a strange, deep tremor as he spoke to
me*
"I)o me this favor," lie said; "go
with this man, find him shelter and
food, and whatever else he 111:13- need.
Do for him all that he asks, for I owe
him a great debt. I will wait for you
here."
He turned, and went slowly up the
steps again, while I gave 1113- attention
to the fellow before 1110. Ido not need
to tell you much of him. He seemed
the worst of his class. Dressed in
rags, fil thy and palsied with drink, lie
was loathsome in the extreme. lie
mumbled now, in a maudlin way. and
staggered from sheer weakness. I
soon saw that his mind was half gone,
and that he was ill and miserable.
Want had done almost its worst up -:i
him. He easily submitted to being led,
and 1 took him, first, to a place where
he was bathed, and cleanly dressed,
and fed. Then, I saw more clearty
how little strength was in him, and so
we went forthwith to a hospital, and 1
procured a bed for him there. After
the physician had examined him, he
told me that the spark of life hung
only by a thread. It might be a mat
ter of a few hours; at the most, but a
, few days, before the end would come.
It was far past midnight when I left
him, ami returned to the club.
The Old Beau was alone in an upper
room. A dim light burned on the ta
ble, a low fire in the grate. The usual
accessories, tobacco and liquors, were
notable for their absence.
lie looked up when I entered, and J
Saw that lie was still very white. I
thought 1 could detect the signs of a
AND GAVE HIM A COIN,
severe mental struggle—a struggle for
self-control. A sad smile flitted about
his gentle mouth—a sad smile, 3'et one
that worf not utterly without joy.
He mentioned me to a chair near the
grate, and I sat down and waited for
him to speak. This he did after a
time, looking dreamily into the fire
the while.
"It is a memory frgm the past," lie
said; "more —a ghost from the grave.
That man—that poor wreck and
clligy of a man—was the friend of my
early days. Wc loved the same
woman, quarreled for her, and fought.
It was in the south, and in the time
when hot blood carried men to the
dueling ground. Wc fought beneath
the arched live-oaks in the Old Parish
road below the city where so many of
the foolish youths of New Orleans
have met. I ran him through with Hl3'
sword, and left him for dead upon the
field. I was forced to i\y, with my
seconds. The pli3*sician was a
stranger to me, a friend of his. Ho
sent me a paper later, marked with an
account of the duel, ami the death of
my opponent I went abroad. Before
leaving I tried to see her —the woman
we had fought for. I know that she
loved me. and not him."
He paused and was silent so long
that I thought he lia<l forgotten inc. 1
made a little movomnt to attract his
attention. He looked up at me and
smiled again.
"I have been back in the long ago,"
he said. "There are pleasant memo
ries there, as well as sad ones. It is
much to know that you were once
loved by a pure woman. I knew that,
for she told me so in a little note that
I have always kept. Nothing can take
that knowledge from inc. But she
said that she could never marry a man
who had the blood of another on his
hands and on his soul."
Again he paused and seemed to
dream, and I respected and did not
break the silence.
"I have seen her many times since,"
he began again, presently, "as one sees
the stars away off in the unreachable
heavens. But never to touch her hand
—her garments, even; not even to
speak with her, except as we have met
and passed in the street. She has
never married, and I know that she
has grown old, still loving xne, as I
have grown old, loving her."
After this he asked me to tell him
what I had done, and I did this as
briefly as I could.
"You say he has not long to live?
Will you come with me?"
He started up eagerly, drawing on
his coat. We went out together and I
led the way to the hospital, where I
had left the other.
The touch of human sympathy that
we hud given him had mellowed the
poor outcast, and silenced his jeers.
The meeting between the two men
was affecting. The long years seemed
blotted out, and their hands clasped,
as they ha I done in their youth. The
stranger had grown weaker since I
left him.
"I am dying, Willis," he said broken
ly; "it may be but a matter of a few
hours. 1 have wronged you, and 1
want your forgiveness. I know what
I have made your life. I have been
wretched, and weak, and miserable as
any dog that walks the earth. But I
accept it all as the just reward for
what I did. I provoked you beyond
Atld
llligl
"TKI.I. HIM THAT I WAIT FOB IIIS COM-
I NO."
human endurance, compelled you to
tight, because 1 hoped to kill 3-011.
When 1 fell, it would have been out
right if I had died. But I lived, saved
through the exertions of 1113' ph3*sician,
and then together we made up that
lie, and sent it to you. I knew what
that would do. Then, when I was
well again, I drink and gambled until
poverty and the devil claimed 111 c
wholly; until I became the ruin 3-011
now see. I did not think ever to cross
your path again, but I am glad that it
has happened so. I can die easier for
having said this."
The Old Beau put his arms about
the dying man, ami his face down
close beside him, and I heard him
whisper:
"My dear Edgar, let the dead past
bury its dead."
We remained with him through the
rest of that night, and through the fol
lowing du3',and through the next night.
He grew gradually weaker, and his life
went out just as the sun of a new dn v \-
had risen. When it was all over, we
went back to the club and there un
friend wrote a brief note.
"Willyou take it to this address," he
asked me; "but wait," he added; "3-011
should have the right to read this."
He unfolded the paper and laid it
before me, and I looked and saw these
words:
"The hand of God has turned back
the leaves of the book of the past. 1
have just come from the deathbed of
Edgar Freeman. We were friends
again, at the last; and iny hands and
my soul are free from his blood. May
I come to you?"
When I had read this I saw already
the dawning of a new and glorious
day for the Old Beau, as I trust 0110
had already dawned for the poor out
cast. I went with a light heart, with
speeding feet.
I had thought to find an old woman
—a woman grown old before her time.
But I found her in the sweet and full
maturity of womanhood. I will not
tr3' and tell you of her. She was
worthy to have been served for seven
times the seven years that Jacob
served for Rachael.
1 was her slave from the moment
that I saw her. I could have fallen
down at her feet and worshiped her
when she said to me:
"He must love you, or he would not
have trusted you with this message.
Tell him that I wait for his coming."
Shall 1 tell you the rest? No, I
think I will not. But Ima 3' fwy to
you that I think iny friend has found
the Fountain of Youth; for his step is
lighter, his 03-0 brighter, his smile
more joyful, his voice merrier and his
heart more full of the milk of human
kindness even than it was before. Yet
his gain is my loss, for there are 110
more cozy hours in the ©lub alcove,
and no more stories of the Old Beau.
—She—"And so 3'oti have been to
Washington and actually stepped upon
the sacred floor of the house of repre
sentatives? Were you not fired with
enthusiasm?" He—"No; by the door
keeper."—Boston Transcript.
TWO CLEVER POODLES.
Jn - S:iok?tl a I'lp\ th Other u
Boot-ltlac Stand.
Like all representative dog.-. of dif
ferent countries, the French poodle
possesses some of the characteristics of
his nation. Vivacity t;n.l quid: intelli
gence arc the dog': p. anincnt
traits.
The brightest poodles I have ever
known, says Stuart Travis, were all
profceg es of shopkeepers, old soldiers
and the bourgeois in general.
I used to see very often a veteran of
the Fi jncli wars. This old soldier had
a pooc le who was his pipe bearer.
It w is a funny sight to see the dog
walki] /; gravely upright on his hind
legs, and taking quick little steps to
keep up with the martial stride of the
Vetera .1.
Every now and then the man would
take a very black meerschaum pipe !
from his lips and give it to the dog,
I
HE WOULD PUFF AWAY WITII BELISII.
who would take it between his teeth,
brace himself and puff away with evi
dent relish—keeping the pipe lit until
it suited his master's pleasure to smoke
again himself.
The weight of the pipe obliged the
dog to lean very far back to keep his
balance. Holding this absurd attitude
in itself was no easy feat, hut far more
difficult was his maintaining the erect
position on his hind legs so long.
It did not seem to tire him, however,
for I watched him several times until
out of sight, and never saw him get
down on his forelegs at all, like other
and less accomplished dogs. Indoetl.
he seemed to enjoy it and to fully re
alize the dignity of his official position
as pipe bearer.
There was, a few years ago, a boot
black who had a stand on the boule
vard des Italiennes. This artist owned
a large poodle, who, for professional
reasons, never had his hair cut like
most of his dog brothers.
This remarkable dog would sit by the
stand in clear weather when business
was dull, his bright eyes watching crit
ically the shoes of the passers-by.
If the dog saw a particularly flue
shine on some dandy's boots le? would
dash out, and, before the astonished
pedestrian knew what lie was about,
would ruin the polish with a few quick
lappings of his large, moist tongue.
Then in half apologetic and persua
sive manner he would try to drag by
the coat-tails his victim towards his
master's stand, so as to have lib; boots
shincd over again.
He never failed also to bark, to call
his master's attention to the approach
ing customer.
This dog really conducted the whole
business. Curiously, if the weather
was bad and the streets wet, nnd there
were consequently shoes in plenty to
shine, he would not resort to these ex
treme measures.-—Hoston Globe.
A LONG FAREWELL.
Why Private Dohorty Dude III* Hcrfjoant
Good-It j'.
It is said to Ikj an old story, this of a
man named Doherty, who was drilling
with his squad of recruits in London. |
Doherty was nearly six feet two in j
height, and at that time the sergeant- !
major was a man whose? height was
only five feet four. On this day he ap
proached the squad looking sharply
about him for some fault to find.
All the men squared up except
Doherty, and the sergeant-major at
once accosted him.
"Head up there, man!" called he,
Doherty raised his head slightly.
"Up higher, sir!"
The head was raised again. Then
"good-bv, seughant."
the sergeant managed, by standing 011
his toes, to reach Doherty's chin, and
he poked it higher, with the remark:
"That's better. Don't li t, me see
your head down again!"
l!y this time everybody was interest
ed at seeing Dohorty staring away
above the sergeant-major's head, when
a voice from above said, in a rich
brogue:
"Am I to be always like this, ser
geant-major?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Then I'll say good-by to ye, sergeant
major, for I'll nivcr see yez again!"
A Noted IJridjfo.
Teacher—This poem refers to "The
Bridge of Sighs." Do you know what
bridge that is?
Dull Boy—Guess there ain't anything
can beat the Brooklyn bridge on size, i
—Good News.
A Personal Allusion.
"T believe I'll go out and stretch my
legs a little," said a tail gentleman, as
the train stopped at a station on the
New York Central.
"O, don't," said a gentleman passen
ger who had been sitting opposite tc
him, and who had been much embar
rassed by the legs of tho tall gentle
man. "Don't do that. Don't stretch
those legs any more. They arc toe
long already."
The look the long man gave the critic
who objected to such lengthy extremi
ties will haunt the rash man as long as
memory holds her seat. —Alex Sweet, in
Texas Siftings.
Theory and Practice.
Wife—Do newspaper writers sit up
ail night?
Husband—l believe so.
"That explains it, then."
"Explains what?"
"The household department of this
paper recommends roast potatoes for
breakfast. One would have to sit up
all night to have the oven hot enough."
—N. Y. Weekly.
Hrcaklng It Gently.
Edgar—Miss Edith, I —ah—have
something most important to ask you.
May I—that is—
Edith (softly)— What is it, Edgar?
Edgar—May I—Edith, would you be
willing to have our names printed in
the papers, with a hyphen between?—
Answers.
Valuable Information.
Dusty Rhodes —Walker owes his suc
cess to his knowledge of law and valua
tions.
Fitz William—How is that?
Dusty Rhodes—The minute he looks
at an article of virtu, he knows wheth
er it is grand or petty larceny.— N. Y.
World.
Had Ileen There Before.
Judge—Have you formed any opinion
on this case?
Mr. Wood B. Juror—Yes, your honor,
1 have; but that need not matter. 1
have served on juries before, and I
know that I shall have no opinions at
all when both sides get through.—
l'uck.
Spoiled the Parting.
Ferguson—You don't look like a man
who has just said good night to hi?
adored. Perhaps the old man came to
the door in time to see you off.
Ilankinson—He came to the door,
blame him, in time to saw me off!—
Chicago Tribune.
Love of Power.
"What ever induced Bingley to go
into business? His wife has enough
money to support the two of them."
"It wasn't money he was after. He
opened an oliice so that he could have
some place on earth where ho would be
boss."—lndianapolis Journal.
The Income Tax.
Citizen One—What do you think of
this income tax?
Citizen Two—l haven't made lip my
mind yet. I've got to wait till the end
of tho fiscal year and see whether I've
got any income or not. —Detroit Free
Press.
YVIIKN LOVELY WOMAN VOTES.
v-- ■- ;r
Miss Mawbanks—Vote for that hor
rid man! Why, how can you, when he
has such a big, ugly red beard?— Judge.
Always.
Jaspar—l have noticed a peculiar
tiling about men who claim to be
lieve in nothing.
Jumpuppe—What is it?
Jaspar—They always have an un
speakable belief in themselves.—Truth.
Met the Emergency.
Hotel Clerk—The old gentleman in
No. says that his room is full of
steam from the laundry.
Proprietor—-All right. Charge him
one dollar and fifty cents for a Turk
ish bath.—N. Y. World.
Home Dentistry.
Johnnie—l pulled that tooth, mam
ma. I knew I could.
Mamma—How did you do it, dear?
Johnnie—Oh, I just put on my big
Sunday straw hat and tied the string
to my loose tooth, and when the hat
blew off it pulled the tooth right out! j
—Arkansaw Traveler.
Decadence of Dramatic Criticism.
First Nigh tor—The man who writes
the dramatic criticisms for your paper
does not know a good play from a bad
Editor—l know it, but what can we
do? lie is the only man on the staff
who is tall enough to see over the bon
nets.—N. Y. Weekly.
lis Properties.
She (nestling up to him)—l know we
are poor, papa, but Charlie says that
love will make away.
Her Father (grimly)— Yes, yes. It
has made away with about eight tons
of coal ancl fifty dollars' worth of gas in
the last twelve months.—Truth.
A Tremendous Y'lc*v.
"We can see the statue of liberty
from our house," said the Yonkers boy,
proudly.
"We can beat you there. We can sec
the moon from ours," retorted tho boy
from Boston. —Harper's Young People.
Not to He Returned.
Briggs—Gander seems to bo very
happy in his newly-married life.
Griggs—llc ought to be. All of his
wedding presents were given him by j
people already married.—Judge.
THE MAN OF THE HOUR.
Eugcno V. Debs, President of the Ann r!
can Kail way Union.
President Eugene V. Del . of the
American liail a ay union, as the direct
iighead of the* boycott against the
Pullman company's cars, is a i r eminent
figure in American affairs to-day.. lie
brings to the present struggle between
organized labor and organized capital
great executive ability, and he is be
sides a wonderful organizer. Mr. Debs,
too, is an orator of no mean preten
sions. lie has u good voice and pres
ence, is magnetic and earnest, lie pos
sesses absolutely the confidence of the
men in the American Railway union.
President Debs was born in Terre Haute,
Ind., in 1855. He received his educa
tion in the public schools of that city,
and when sixteen years old began work
as a painter in the Vandalia railroad
shops. Afterward he worked for three
years as a fireman on the same road.
His first appearance in public life was
his election to the office of city clerk of
Terre Ilaute. lie served two terms,
and when he was twenty-six years old
was chosen a member of the state legis
lature. While in that body he secured
the passage of several laws in the in
terest of labor. Ilis speech nominating
Daniel Voorhccs for the United States
senate gave Mr. Debs wide reputation
as an orator. At the end of his terra
in the legislature Mr. Debs was made
grand secretary and treasurer of the
brotherhood of Locomotive Firemen,
and he filled that office for fourteen
consecutive years. He was always an
earnest advocate of a federation of
railway nun, and through his efforts
the United Order of Railway Employes,
composed of the brotherhoods of rail
way trainmen and conductors, Brother
hood of Locomotive Firemen and of
the Switchmen's Mutual Aid associa
tion, was formed and Mr. Debs became
a member of its supreme council. The
organization, however, was dissipated
by a quarrel between two of the lead
ing orders comprising it, and then Mr.
Debs conceived the idea of the Amcri-
EUGENE V. DEBS.
can Railway union. For a year and n
half he worked at the details, and the
union came into existence June 20,1893.
Since its organization it has prospered,
and the union is now the largest body
of railway men in the world. Its re
cent victory in the strike against the
Great Northern railway was a signal
one. That was Debs' first great fight
and he won it. Mr. I)cbs is married
and has a pleasant home in Terre
Ilaute.
HIS FUNNY SHAPE.
Tho Young Lady Could Not Cot Onto the
Umpire's Curves.
Not everyone who goes to a baseball
game knows all about the game. Sora<
of them, principally women, know con
siderably more about many other
things.
This was illustrated at tho Philadel
phia Basball park tho other day. She
had been going for the last live games
and began to think she knew some
thing more than her sisters. But there
was one thing that floored her, and
that was the umpire.
"Hasn't he got a funny shape," said
she to her escort. Lie replied "yes," in
an absent-minded way, for there were
three on bases, with a tie score.
The crisis past, the conversation was
"Why do they have such a deformed
man there?" asked she. Iler escort
M 1
Bins THOUGHT TIIE UMPIRE WAS DE
FORMED.
looked at the umpire several times, but
could see no deformity. So he asked
for information.
"Why, don't you sec how his stomach
is shaped?" was the reply. Then it be
gan to dawn upon the baseball en
thusiast that his fair companion did
not realize that the umpire had on a
chest protector and it made him look
like a lean spring chicken. He ex
plained.
Where Weddings Are Melancholy.
A Japanese wedding would appear
to bo a melancholy affair. It is not
good form for tho bride over there to
admit that she is glad to get married, j
When she is told of the process she is J
expected to howl loudly ami long.
Also she must keep it up by day and by
night until the ceremony takes place.
After she has been richly dressed for
the event she must renew her shrieks
and hang back until one of her at
tendants throws a veil over her faco.
Then un old woman takes her on tho
back and carries lier to a sedan chair.
When she arrives at tho bridegroom's
house she is a wife, the simple ride in
the flowery chair being the'only legal
ceremony required, though profuse
entertainments and congratulations
from assembled guests follow her
arrival.
for Infants and Children.
yours' observation of Castoria with the patronage of
0 millions of persons, permit us to speak of it without guessing.
' iy tha boat remedy for Infants and Children
-or known. It is harmless. Children like it. It
- b. It will wave their lives. In it Mothers have
Momefhinfe which is absolutely safe and practically perfect as a
child's medicine.
Castoria destroy s Worms.
Castoria allays Fcverishnesa.
Castoria proven? s vomiting Sonr Cnrd.
Castoria cures Diarrhoea and Wind Colic.
Castoria relieves Toothing Troubles.
Castoria and Flatnleney.
Cnntorin iiontr.iluos the effects of carbonic acid gas or poisonons air,
Castoria does not contain morphine, opium, or other narcotic property.
Cn.3torir. assimilates theffootd t regulates the stomach and bowels,
giving healthy and natural sloop.
Castoria is pnt op in one-size bottles only. It is not sold in hulk.
Don't allow any one to sell yon anything else on the plea or promise
that it is* just as good " and " will answer every purpose."
Soo that you get C-A-S-T-O-R-I-A.
Tho foe-simile y/tTy ~ * 8 on every
signature of wrapper.
Children Cry for Pitcher's Castoria.
GO.
£ll ftfl saving tho .i tiio dealer's profit. Wo are tho .
dlaUv "AM -i and l.:->'fttNt manufacturers In Amor- fill SI 1 I
I B ' !l ''^ lnK ' WHOLESALE PRICEB.
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■! • Surreys,s6s toSIOO *
Bo.av. Sarrrj TUr. • ' •:> i-r t m. Top Buggies, m SZB
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'T-to SIOO. F.irm V/fgons, Wagonettes, / jm /\
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No. 3, Farm Wagon. Address W„ 8. PRATT, Sec'y, ELKHART, IND.
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