The Carbon advocate. [volume] (Lehighton, Pa.) 1872-1924, 1874-03-28
His Lucky Number.

20 might have been, would have been,
an unlucky number for me. Yet /
didn't know 1t, both we're painted in
black letters on a white oval -21-29.
Not much difference, you see, very like
indeed; and yet, because chose the
number without flourish and long
leg, l am here to-day, and have had q
long and happy life. should have
been the occupant of suicides grave
ever so many years ago had chosen
20r"
81 really can't understand" said l.
"Was It lottery, or a draft, con-
scription, or what? Was 1t a game
was ~"
at was the number on door," said
the old gentleman. Wait q minute !;
III tell you all about 1t:
IL was very much in love. Every
body is at some time in his life. At
twenty-five I was desperate. Talk about
Romeo. He was nothing compared to
me. am not ashamed of it. She was
a worthy object-not only because she
was beautiful, but she was good and
amiable, and such singer-she sang
soprano in the choir. And I've heard
strangers whisper TO each other, is
there really an angel up there?' when
she sang her part alone. Clear and
sweet and flutelike her voice was. I've
never heard its equal.
"Well, loved her. and thought she
liked me; but wasn't sure. courted d
her good while, but she was shy as
any bird, and I couldn't satisfy myself
as to her feelings. So I made up my
mind to ask her and know for certain.
Some old poet says:
He either fears his fate too much,
Orhis deserts are small,
Who fears to put 1t to the touch,
And win or lose 1t all'
So agreed with him; and one even
ing as / walked home from little par
ty where we had met, with her on my
arm, stopped under great willow
tree, and took her hand in mine and
said
"Jessie, love you better than nv
life-will you marry me?" l waited
an answer; she gave none.
" JESSIE" said, won't you SPEAK
to me?"
Then she did speak
"No-oh, dear, no %
! offered her my arm again, and tool
her home without word. She hat
told me before that she should start will
the dawn TO visit an aunt in New York
hut did not even say goodbye at tn,
door. bowed; that was all. Then
when she was out of sight, and / stood
alone in the village street, felt des
perate enough to kill myself.
"What have done to have so colo
a refusal? Why Should she scorn IN,
SO? oh, dear, no! T." grew furious
as repeated the words.
Yet it stung me all the same. tosset
from side to side on my bed all night
and / thought 1 could endure 1t no long
er. But would not pain and dlsgrac,
my respected relatives by committing
suicide in the place wherein they dwell
and were well known and thought of
} 1 would 60 to Now York-even then
very large city - and, seeking som,
; hotel, register an assumed name, and
retiring at night with bottle Of laud
, anum and brace of pistols, awake nj
more, and so be rid of misery. ar
, ranged my affairs to the best of m.
ability, and received an imaginary let
J ter from friend in New York, request
ingimy presence OIL matter of bust
ness. / burdened myself with no un
! necessary luggage. What did an "un
known suicide" want of another Goa
and change of linen?
] kissed my mother and sister, an,
} startled my grandmother by an embrace
: and started upon what mentally calle
my last journey, with a determine,
spirit.
There was certain hotel TO whlcl
many of the people of our village wer
In the habit OF going. This l avoided
Another chosen at a hazard, scenes
to be better. Thither walked, deter
: mined to leave no trace of my destina
; tion to those who knew me-nO clew b
my ipdentlty to those who should fin,
me dead.
Ihad no mark upon my clothing, NJ
card, paper or letter with me. l hat
torn the hatter's mark from my beaver
AS assembled the hotel steps felt, S,
to speak, like one going to his fune-
raj.
A grlnning waiter bowed before me
I