The Tiffin tribune. (Tiffin, Ohio) 1868-1887, 1871-01-12
John Arde,e's Mottre.
BY MRS. NJ. A. DENIsoN.

So old John Arden was dead and
left nothing. He had lived the life of
a millionaire and died the death of
a beggar. Left nothing, did / say ?
He had left helpless juniOr-John-
a creature of nineteen, who had been
for all the years that had gone bUsily
employed in making away with him
self-his intellect, his moral impulses,
| his naturally noble manhood. Junior
John had just become perfect in the
use of his gold-headed walkings-tick
when his father died. He could carry
I it between the thumb and finger of
his faultless kids in a way that struck
the women with admiration. The
genteeI tap of its taper point on tho
j right-hand knee of his pantalOOns
was exquisite. The way he handled
it under mis- mOustache smote other
dandies with envy, and his use of it
as walking-stiek was beyond all
praise.
Poor John junior? what would he
do now? The fabulous wealth of poor
old papa all gone-the elegant house
to be sold-the splendid furniture to
be desecrated by the idle touch of the
curious snob-the fast horse to be sac
rificed, and all this to satisfy angry
and Unfortunate creditors, so that
not a single red cent would be likely
TO fall into his pockets-what would
hedo?
He walked the desolate rooms, his
heart more desolate than any of them.
He had not, to be sure, cared much
for the old man. To him he had been
very much like a great plethoric poek-
et-book, from which he could draw
bank notes at will. As to loving him
he had never in all his life seen him
fifteen minutes at a time-he could
notin factget near enough to love him.
He could not climb that horrid noun
tain of business behind which his
father entrenched himself. So he
took to loving horses and fast young
men. and billiard saloons, and fash
ionabIe women, and champagne, ci-
cars, etc, etc. They had all deserted
him, He walked the empty rooms
alone. No one of "thOse splendid fell
lows of our setD intruded on his pri-
vacy, His father was dead, poor fel-
low! and he probably wished for soli-
tude. If he did, he had 1.-THE sOli-
tude of the moneylessi
The auction was over, and John
Arden Junior had no home. One or
two of his relatives gave him the cold
invitation to call and see them. One
great uncle-a man "made of money"
sent word that he could aecommO-
date MIN a week or so until he could
find something to do. Johns eyes
flashed as he tore the scented billet in
to infinitesimal pieces and ground
them into the carpet with his heel.
"The old reprobate ~ he cried, with
flashing eyes, "and my father helped
him make his fOrtuneW
Not long after this there came let
ter, a homelier letter, directed in a
neat business hand. 1t found poor
John Arden in mean lodgings-a
meagre little room in the upper story
of a second-rate genteel house. On
the strength of his possession of a
gold-headed cane and handsome trunk
the landIady trusted him-fOr few
days.
The letter laid on his table when he
came in from a most miserable recre-
alton. He had been down to the riv-
er speculating upon its eoldness and
probable depth. "At any rate" he
had said in sOliloquy, laughing little
bitterly-fI should not make an i'll
looking corpse-unless the fishes bit
me. But they would only say poor
Jack! but then what's the use of liv-
ing without the dimes w
It is probable the two ''tbeys''meant
the respective sexes.
Johns eye lighted up a little when
he saw the plain handwriting on the
envelope. He seized it, opened it
eagerly and read as if he had found
treasure. 1t was a strange thing for
a reduced gentleman to do, but when
he had perused it, he let it drop softly
from his hand, his lips quivered-he
felt for a handkerchief in his coat
pocket, and deliberately wiping his
ewes with it, rested his elbows on the
table and covered his face with his
hands. For some moments he sat in
that position, then rising he walked
the floor, exelailning;
tHThat Ike Arden is a glorious fel-
low his father is a glorious fellow
His whole family must be glorious
fellows, though half a dozen of them
are girls. pIl 90. That's no half
way invitation-that's no coldly for
NAL apology-that's, that's a right
down welcome-Heaven be thanked!
I can't curse hiBlr"
The letter in question read thus:
'fDEAR COUSIN JOHN:-We have
heard of your great bereavement, and
cannot tell you how much and how
deeply we all sympathiZe with you. |
Father tells me to say that your room |
stands Just where it did; the girls are
all longing to see you; motherdeclares
that she shall take it hard of her only |
brothers. child If you do not come to ]
her in your affiietion-and you may /
imagine US all holding out our right 1
hands, longing for a good grasp of
YOURS. 1t Is my vacation now, and I
want you. How soon may we expect ]
YOU? Shall drive down to Alder |
Vile depot Thursday evening exactly /
at six? Or shall 1 come on to B. to \
keep you company on the road? Just /
as YOU say; but one of the two things /
must be done Write me directly. / 1
shall harness black Bess on Thursday |
at five P. M. Don't disappOint US. |
Most truly your friend and cousin.
I. ARDEN.
"And how I snubbed him when he !
was here - groaned John, with terri Z
ble tWinge of conscience. "GoOd 4
heavens / wonder he didn't knock 1
me down. Well, at all events, that's 4
real. Iknow it by-by-my feeling .
so like a confounded baby;'f and up
went the handkerchief again. "At I
all events, can go for week or two (
Il don't want to sponge on anybody; /
but what can I do? Providence pro- I
vides for the lame and the lazy" he .
muttered; 'IbeIieVeI'm both-at least /
morally, if not physically" /
So saying, John went to his trunk .
and threw back the lid. There lay,all .
in spotless white, "a dozen pairs Of Par I
is gloves. 'I can at least give these 1
to nv cousins" he said, his eye .
"that viii pay for some