Alpena weekly argus. [volume] (Alpena, Mich.) 1871-1893, 1872-02-06
"She suoops to Conquer"

Warren Hereford was not man to
be trihed with nor opposed. His son
Egbert knew that, and yet he dcfed
him to his very teeth, dared him to
carry his threat into execution and
disown him. There was the old blood
boiling in the boys veins. The same
blood that flushed his parents face,
the same blood that had rent and part
ed the Hereford family and raised
lasting monuments of sorrow and re-
gret. Noble they called it, and for
proof pointed to long list of rash
actions in home and field. And new
it was blazing again, blazing with all
its fierceness between the last two of
the name. Whitc-haired Philip, the
old retainer, whose memory covered
the time from his present masters ba-
byhood, stood near the door pretend
ing to brush the books in the case on
the left, but he knew not whether they
were kettles or glass globes, he heard
nothing but the angry words and occa
sional impreciations which seemed to
portend the final downfall of the house.
At intervals he glanced slyly over his
shoulder and trembled as he saw his
masters black looks, and then swung
his brush again with renewed energy,
as if fearful of being caught listening.
The old man was on his feet now.
his strong, compact frame quivering
with rage, and his right hand raised
above his head The son stood few
steps away, his left hand clinchcd, and
his right drawn back, while his eyes
cleaned bright with passion. Old
Philip turned again, and gazed upon
them apprehcnsively, trcmulously.-
There was a moment of ominous ST.
lence. 1t was broken by the father
fist crashing down upon the desk.
"Go then, you ungrateful hound, go,
and never let me see you again. If
you come-mark me-if you dare to
come within foot of my land, I'll
cow-hide you ON the village green
Now you hear it, and l never yet
broke my work. Go-work, beg,
starve, steal, murder, but never look
to Warren Hereford for help! Go,
curse"
"Oh no, no; say not that, my mas
ter !" cried Philip, catching him by
the arm and gazing pleadingly into his
face. "The lads your own, your only
one, you know. Come, make it up"
"Silence, old man! I'll not hear
another word. Unhand me "
"Yes-neither coax nor hold him.
| care not for his menaces since his
love has become so despicable."
"Hush Oh, be quiet, my young
master. Wait-think-let your heart
come up--don't speak now. This
must not be J"
Perhaps the deep, earnest tones of
the old servants voice, and the sight
of his sad, painful face in its wreath
of snow-white hair, would have arous-
ed the better qualities of Egbcrt's ma
ture; but, unfortunately, he saw his
fathers lips curl and his eyes fash with
scorn 1t was enough.
"No more, Philip, not breath. I'll
not stoop to parley. I'll neither beg,
steal murder, nor ask aid from one too
basely unnatural to be father; no,
not if eat my own flesh and drink
my own blood. There's your answer,
Warren Hereford; now remember it
alive-remember it dead "
He turned and strobe from the
room. Philip listened to his steps
from the hall to the corridor, from the
corridor to the lawn, and then, as they
gradually receded, he dropped upon a
chair and buried his face in his hands.
Warren Hereford sat erect, his gray
eyes full of fiery sternness, his Aorid
countenance harshly resolute. Anon
the old servants body trembled, and
he wept-wept in that low, piteous
way which distinguishes the emotion
of the feeble and aged.
"Stop your whining, you old magpie
stop, l sayP
"But, my master, listen--listen just
minute. Think Of the dear lad, and
how brave and good he is; think how
his mother would feel"