The Forest Republican. [volume] (Tionesta, Pa.) 1869-1952, 1875-07-14
THE GREEN POCKET BOOK.

John Singleton stood on the street
corner, waiting for his car. Business
hours were over he was going home
"a bachelors home in boarding
house, but none the less grateful to his
imagination just then. A fine rain
fell, the pavement was clogged with
sticky, halfmelted snow, and altogeth-
er the evening was comfortless as even
ing can well be in early April, when
the cheering hope of warm suns and
dry streets is Immediately at hand.
The jingling car came by, crowded,
as always at that hour of the day. Mr..
Singleton had to run half square in
the mud to catch 1t, a proceeding that
did not improve his temper. He
clutched strap and glared gloomily
at the ladies who had monopolized
seats, resentful, as business man is
apt to be, Of the appearance of women
in public conveyances at halEpast five
in the afternoon. Keeping his eye on
the straw under foot, he paid no atten.
ton whatever to his neighbors--if, in
deed, one can be said to have such in a
horse railway carriage.
Sixteenth street-Twenty fourth
Thirty.sscond - Fortieth. The car
emptied rapidly. AS the last lady left
rose to get out, small green book be-
came visible, half-hidden by the folds
of her gown.
81 beg pardon-you have dropped
something said John, picking it up.
"Sir %
"This book-you dropped it"
The old lady looked acidly, first at
the book and then at John. "The ar
ticle is not mine," she remarked, ffig-
idly. Then she got out.
Mr.. Singleton was the sole remain
ing passenger. His impulse was to
hand the book to the conductor, but a
glance at that worthy's face checked
him. Better advertise" he thought !:
and signaling the car to stop, he
aiighted in the mud of upper Broad
way.
His laudlady opened the door in a
nervous 1utter. "Oh, sir, it's you at
last. There's a telegraphic boy been
waiting for you ever so long"
Sure enough, there sat the boy; and
the result of his message was that in
half an hour John Singleton was speed
ing on his way to Western New York
by the night express, a hastily packed
satchel under his feet, and his head full
of other business than HAT of finding
owners to lost property. The little
| ,raaD ,,onIy or lNoo,L aI habinI -,
the pocket of the Office coat flung aside
1-at the moment of departure.
There it might have remained for
months, if, diving one day, man-fash-
ion, after some lost article, his fingers
had not happened to encounter it.
This was fortnight or so after his re-
turn.
"Hallo what's this ?" he said. 1t
was moment before he recollected.
"Bless me this is too bad / had for.
gotten the thing completely. l must
be looking up the owner if there's
enough in it to pay for an advertise
ment."
He released the elastic strap and
opened the pages. There was no mon.
ey; no place for any. The little book
was diary, shabby, green bound, with
no name on the title page. Most of the
leaves were blank, few only being
scribbled over in little girlish hand
writing. John glanced over these in
search of clew, and pretty soon grow
ing interested, drew his chair to the fire,
cooked up his feet and proceeded to
read regularly.
The diary began:
October 5.-Last night Alice and
Tom and went to DIR. Bellows lee
ture. 1t was interesting. He said that
the great thing in life is direction, that
is, no matter how far off our aims seem,
if our faces are only set toward them
we are sure to get there some day. In
the very middle of cold winter, he
said, we turn o corner, and begin to go
toward the spring, and it is as if we
were there, because we are certain.
That is beautiful. l shall try to rec
ollect it when things seem especially
contrary, as they do sometimes
October 81 have been making
my winter bonnet, or rather warming
over the old one. for it is Alice's turn
to have the new one this year. She
ought to always, she has to see
such stylish people in the houses where
she teaches. The old brown felt does MT
look bad, considering that it is its third
appearance. I've steamed the velvet,
aud curled the feather with a hot pen
knife, aud tucked in little blue bow,
and Tom says it's gorgeous Tom is
always funny about my things.
"The pudding Tom likes so much
"Take eight large baking apples,