The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1873-08-14
THE STORY OF RODGERS.


bales of paper warehouse in a
neighboring city, with a strong
SINE Il of stale tobacco and whiskey
hanging about it. Turning it over
(which you could do as though II
were log, any time after ten in the
morning., you void find the swollen
purple face Of what had once been
a handsome young man, but there
was little hope that the bleared eyes
or thick tongue would give an in
telligent answer. The porters pass
ing by would push him aside, but
not roughly. The time had been
when he hads been a jolly, generous
young fellow, and a favorite in the
office. Young Rodgers some one
would give you his history in five
minutes. s'Taken to run-no chance
poor devil" Stokes, the propri-
etor could not turn him
out to starve so still gave nominal
salary, aud suffered him to hang
about the house lest he should take
to worse courses than drinking.
There were hints, too, of a widowed
mother away off in the country, who
had been dependent on him, and a
sweetheart, pretty, clinging little
girl, both of whom long ago he had
abandoned. But there was nothing
to be done. The end, through the
usual horrors of delirium tremens,
was apparently not far off.
One day, as Rodgers was creep
ing o the nearest bar for his morn
ing bitters, a man, whom he barely
knew by sight, took him by the
elbow and walked with him into a
quieter street.
''They tell me you are Richard
Rodgers's son." he said. ''Dick
Rodgers was the only friend l had
for years, and for his sake L like to
save his boy. Are YOU willing for
me to try?"
"Oh, you can try" muttered the
lad with an imbecile laugh.
This nameless friend, nothing
daunted, took him to chamber in
his own house and put him to bed.
There he and his sons kept watch
and guarded this poor wretch for
months, like prisoner, keeping
liquor from him, and trying to
supply it by medical treatment. A
ply stefan he employed, but he was
not able to pay for a nurse. Any
one who has had to deal with a victim
of naania-a.p0tu, can guess how
difficult and loathsome a task he had
set himself. Ungrateful enough it
was at first, for Rodgers struggled
against his tormentors with the
forocity Of just what he was-a
starving animal. AS reason began
to return, and his unnatural strength
to vanish, he would beg them in
his intervals of reason not to fail him
but to work out the experiment eth
err to success or death. at is my
last chance" he would cry: "For
Cod be patient" This friend, with
hrs son, did work it out through all
the foul, uncomfortable details,
and the end was not death. but
success.
"How soon" asked a friend of
Rodgers, afierward, ',were you trust
ed alone?'
"Not for two years." he answer
ed, laughing 81 was out of jail
but in jail bonds. Do you remem-
Der thai lank, muscular young
fellow who had a desk beside me in
the Office? He took it with the
condition that he could leave it to
dog me night and day, to my meals
and to my bed. That was the son
of the man who saved me. He was
taken from lucrative.in order that
he might became my jailer. God
bless him! How | used is curse
him? Can't you trust my honor?'
/ would cry. I'm not convinced
that your honor has not the consump-
tion,' the Scotch-Irishman would
say. Well put no burdens on it
until it has regained it's health.'"
"Your friend was wealthy man.
no doubt, and so able-to give both
time and money to your case?"