Fayette County herald. [volume] (Washington [Washington Court House], Fayette County, O. [Ohio]) 1860-1???, 1874-03-12
HIS LUCKY NUMBER.

"Every one has "a lucky number. !"
said the old gentleman. "Mine is
twenty-one. Twenty nine might have
been an unlucky number for me. Yet
1 didn't know it; both were painted on
nine. Not much difference you see,
21, %; very like indeed; and yet be-
cause l chose the number without
flourish and loop leg, am here to-
day and have had long and happy
life. should have been the occupant
Of suicides grave so many years
ago had I chosen twenty nine"
/ ''I really can't understand,'' said I.
'sWas it lottery or a draft, a con-
scription, or what Was it a game
was it ?"
cit was the number on the door,"
said the old gentleman. ''Wait Il mo-
ment; Ill tell you all about it:
I was very much in love; every
body is at some time in his life. At
twenty-five I was desperate. Talk
about Romeo! It was nothing to be
compared with me.
I am not ashamed of it. She was
a worthy object. Not only because
she way beautiful, but she was good
and amiable, and such a singer. She
sang soprano in the church choir
And have heard strangers whisper
to each other, ''Is there really an an
gel up there ?'' When she sang hel
part alone. clear and sweet and flute.
like her voice was. I've never heard
its equal.
Well l loved her, and l thought
she loved me; but l wasn't sure.
: courted her a good while, but she was
shy as any bird, and couldn't satisfy
myself as to her feelings. So | made
up my mind to ask and know for Ger
tain. Some old poet says:
"Hs either fears his fate too much.
Or his deserts are small;
Who fears toput it to the touch,
And win or lose it all.''
l agreed with him; and one even
ing, as l walked home from a littl
7 party where we had met, with her O
my arm, stopped under great wi
low tree, and took her hand in mine
and said:
"Jessie, love you better than m
life-Will you marry me ?"
l waited for an answer.
She gave none.
"Jessie,'' said, "won't you spea
to me?''
. Then she did speak.
! "No-oh, dear, mop
offered her my arm again, an
took her home without a word. She
did not speak either. She told me b.
fore that She d start with the dawn t
visit an aunt in New York, but I di
not even say goodbye at the door.
bowed; that was all. Then when sh
went out of sight, and I stood alon
in the village street, I felt desperat
T. enough to kill myself
What had l done to have so cold
refusal? Why should she scorn n
so? Oh, dear, no! grew furious :
I repeated the words.
Yet it stung me all the same.
tossed from side to side of my bed g
night, and thought could endure
no longer. But would not pain an
disgrace my respectable relatives /
committing suicide in the place wher
ii in they dwelt and were we'll know
and thought of. I would go to Ne
York-even then a large city-al
seeking some hotel, register an assur
ed name, and retiring at night with
be bottle of laudanum and brace Of pi
ose tolls, awake no more, and SO be rid
10 my misery. 1 arranged my affairs
= the best of my ability, and received
= imaginary letter from a friend i'll NJ
York requesting my presence on
matter of business. l burdened N
self with no unnecessary luggage.
What did an unknown suicide want
another coat and change of linen ?
l kissed my mother and sister al
startled my grandfather by an embrac
and started upon what I mentally ca
ed my last journey, with a determin
spirit.
There was a certain hotel to whi
many Of the people Of our village we
in the habit of going. This avoide
Another chosen at hazard seemed
be better. Thither I walked, dett
mined to leave no trace of my des
nation to those who knew memo cI
to my identity to those who shoU
find me dead.
I'll, l had no mark on my clothing, l
card, paper, or letter with me; l b
torn the hatter's mark from my beav
n AS 1 assembled the hotel steps l fe
05 so to speak, like one going to his OF
funeral.
A grinning waiter bowed before n
A pert clerk lifted up his head a
stared was an ordinary traveller
them, that was evident.
1t was late in the evening; the pla
wore an air of repose. Laughing a
faint clink of glasses in an I'M
apartment told of some conviviali
One old man read his newspaper
d fore the fire. Nothing else was astir.
III asked for a room. The Gle
nodded.
''Do you care what floor ~ he a
ed.
shook my head.
Number 80 is empty" he said, {
to. tossed key to the waiter, whom l
lowed at once.
We reached the room by two fig
of stairs. At its door the waiter pu
ed.
#. Thought he said twenty-nine, -
muttered, "the key is twenty-one" !"
"Then open twenty one with it,
said, 81 don't care for the number
the roem."
F'No, sir-to be sure, SIR" said
\ waiter, and passed along a few st
s. further.
s "Twenty-one," he said, and unlo