The Cambria freeman. [volume] (Ebensburg, Pa.) 1867-1938, 1872-08-16

Ned Tor running home to has mother.
Not even Philips thought him in leading
strings. The lads were neither coarse OF
vulgar, as Mrs. Moore thought. They were
manly enough to appreciate her manly boy.
She followed him to the door. ''Good
night, my son. God bless you ~
Good night, little mother. I'll be at
home by eleven, at least"
There could be no harm, she thought. in
party of intelligent, clear-minded boys;
tired with the days work, meeting to sharp
en- each others wits over a well-cooked
supper.
Nor would there have been, perhaps, if
the foolish lads had not essayed, like some
OF their foolish elders, to try the poison
which makes them feels as gods and act
as beasts
81 say, Brice, let's have champagne, :"
cried Philips, when supper was over
Lets have the pop of the corks, just for
tonight" Philips had been OH one or two
journeys to New York, and affected the
reckless humOrs of a juvenile Anacreon.
Ned Moore rose. Il must go, Phillips.
l promised to be home early''
''Not until you have tasted some of Brice' S
dry wine. Not asleep
81 cannot touch liquor, you know, Phil
ips. 1t makes fool out of me. dom t
want to stay and be a Pilljoy.''
You needn't touch it. Sit down! Sit
down - shouted dozen voices.
Ned sat down. The pleasant, easy going
fellow; they all knew, was no obstinate spoil
sport. Presently he tasted the wine to
please the others. He had been quite cor
rect. He could not bear liquor. Philips
might sip and sip all night, and be COM
paratively cool and sober at the end, but
single glass made a fool of Moore
the second made him a madman.
Nobody had ever known him so witty.
He kept the table in a roar. The means
of fun were there in abundance, and they
urged him to drink more.
When Charley Hill drank he grew surly.
''Y You' We had enough, he growled. you'd
better go home, Moore, your mother.
wish she and Clara Wilson might see you
as you are. I'll call on Clara III the morn
ing ard tell her how and where left her
sweetheart
Now, in fact, Ned cared more for his old
chum, Hill, than for all the Claras in the
world, but then he was in no mood to be
jeered about a woman, SO he faced Hill,
white with drunken rage.
'1 on play the spy, do you? Coward ~
AS have said, the liquor made Hill surly
He was reused at once, and struck Ned
full in the face. Ned was the slighter of
the two, and fell heavily to the floor, He
sprang up and closed with him, and again
was thrown before the companions could
separate them.
''He's little fellow beside you p cried
Joe Wilson. holding Ned back, trembling
and colorless. ''Shame Oh you! Shame
Hiur'
Hill stood, dumb and sulky; but the
liquor and defeat had driven Ned mad.
Let me go! Am l to bear the blow?
Let me go! [ never was struck before?''
There was dangerous CLEAN in his eyes
which frightened the boys. Philips mo-
toned Joe to take him out. He led him
into the cool air outside,
''You shall not touch Hill Ned. You
don't know what you are doing, boy
Why, Charley is the best friend you have
in the world,'' wipng the white froth from
his lips. ''Come, let me take you home
"In go home alone. Go III want
neither help or advice" He turned off,
and Joe thoughtlessly went in.
Hillhad already repented. ''Tll oafter
him and make it up" he said rising and
going out.
ats curious" said Philips, ''that one or
two glasses of wine should make such an
idiot out of that fellow, Ned
There was sharp cry outside, then a
dull heavy thud on the ground, and then
silence.
When the men rushed out, Moore stood
sober and motionless, looking down at his
old friend Charley, who lay before him,
quiet, with the blood oozing from his head.
He had been violently knocked down, and,
as he fell his head struck the curb stone,
inflicting mortal wound.
l began to write this story (which, but
for the change of names, is strictly true),
simply because l thought it ought to be
told to the thousands of boys who will read
it.
But when the remembrance of the day
of pain that followed, comes upon me, 1
feel that l must be content to set down the
facts as briefly as possible.
The dead boy was taken to his own home.
Where his friend who had killed him had
gone, no one knew. In the confusion
Moore had disappeared.
1t was curious how strong the remem-
brance was now with every one, how close
the friendship had been between the two
boys. Even the mother of the dead boy
placed the guilt where it belonged. sit
was the wine that did it, she said 81
have no anger at Ned. He would have
IL e