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, half melted 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, proceeding that
did not improve his temper He
clutched strap and glared gloomily
at the ladies who had monopolized
seats, resentful, as a business man is
apt to be, of the appearance of women
in public conveyances at halfpast 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
hor5e-rallWay carriage.
Sixteenth street-Twenty fourth
Thirty. second = 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 n--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, frig'
idly. Then she got out.
Mr.. Singleton was the sole remain
ing passenger. His impulse was tc
hand the book to the conductor, but q
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 {
nervous 1utter. "Oh, sir, it's you a
last. There's telegraphic boy beer
waiting for you ever so long"
Sure enough, there sat the boy; anC
the result of his message was that il
half an hour John Singleton was speed
: ing on his way to Western New Yorl
by the night express, a hastily packe'
satchel under his feet, and his head ful
of other business than that of finding
owners to lost property. The littl
green pocket.book remained behind il
the pocket of the Office coat flung asid
1 tat the moment of departure.
\ There it might have remained 70
y months, if, diving one day, man-fash
ion, after some lost article, his finger
had not happened to encounter i
This was fortnight or so after his rf
turn.
J. "Hallol what's this?" he said. ]
was a moment before he recoilectet
N "Bless me this is too bad had fol
- - gotten the thing completely. | mus
$ be looking up the owner If there
ID enough in it to pay for an advertis'
ment."
He released the elastic strap au
opened the pages. There was no mol
sc ey; no place for any. The little boo
m was diary, shabby, green bound, viii
p no name on the title page. Most of Il
80 80 leaves were blank, few only beif
i'd scribbled over in little girlish han
writing. John glanced over these
search of cew, and pretty soon gro'
' ing interested, drew his chair to the tir
Ii, cooked up his feet and proceeded
read regularly.
k. The diary began:
n in "October 5.-Last night Alice al
Tom and | went to DIR. Bellows lie
"a. ture. It was interesting. He said tn
the great thing in life is direction, tn
is, no matter how far off our aims seel
if our faces are only set toward the
we are sure to get there some day.
the very middle of a cold winter,
said, we turn o corner, and begin to
toward the spring, and it is as if
4 we're there, because we are certai
= That is beautiful shall try to r.
= ollect it when things seem especial
contrary, as they do sometimes.
NC October 81 have been maxi
rs' my winter bonnet, or rather warmi
et. over the old one, for it is Alice's tn
ae- to have the new one this year. S
Pa. ought to always, she has to {
. such stylish people in tho houses wh'
she teaches. The old brown felt does
,ne look bad, considering that it is its thi
ny. appearance. I've steamed the velv
my and curled the feather with hot p
1e Iis9 knife, aud tucked in little blue bC
ars and Tom says it's gorgeous Tom
always funny about my things.
"1'he pudding Tom likes so mut
unI o;,,ht laroa hakinr ann