The Red Cloud chief., 1880-11-04
THE GOLD.MAkEK.

THE GOLD.MAkER.
My life was n very wearisome drudg-
cry i'm its earlier years. Now that j am
wealthy and prosperous, and famous as
IN author, ! can scarcely recall, without
n little memorial shiver. as il were,
how / used TO toll alone in that dingy
fourth-story room of mine that over
looked n narrow downtown street,
writing with equal perseverance, and
the same set of oftcn-mcnded quilts,
story, poem, essay, review-anything,
in short, for which the editors TO whom
i sold my work would pay me half, or
even a quarter its actual value. Like
The hero of Aldrich's lines:
Sad enough WAS | sometimes,
finchcd and harasscd with vain desires,
But thicker than clover sprang the rhymes
As ldwcit like n sparrow among the spires"
There was more excuse, perhaps, for
my yielding To the influence of that
chill, benumbing despair which used to
creep over my energies ut certain
hours each day; for, besides being a
woman (and God knows what the words
"Wonan'' and ''pOUerty' mean when
they are coupled togctherD was also
utterly friendless and alone. And |
think il was this solitude in which
dwclt that made my heart yearn for
companionship and throb with sympa-
Thy toward the pale, Interesting girl
who occupied lodgings on the floor be-
low me.
She lived there with her father. she
told me, when | spoke to her one even
ing rs we met on the stairs. The words
w.. axnl,annaI th.p k.r fn,v mud f.ntn-
monplacc enough; but | liked the girl
immensely, even after that short inter
view; perhaps because l read in that
worn, jadcd expression of her face
that, like myself, she worked for her
bread, and worked hard, too; perhaps
because of the truth and honesty and
intelligence that beamed upon me dur
inc those few moments GU of her great
brown eyes. However this may be, j
thought often of Esther Dillon through
The weeks that followed, and longed to
know more concerning her.
One evening an opportunity of doing
so Unexpectedly presented itself; | was
seated before my rickcty pine-table,
ink-bespattered and uncouth, engaged
upon some chapters of a serial story in
which nv heroine was ennUi from ex-
treme idlencss and over-abundant
riches, and spent her mornings on a
crimson velvet lounge, and consumed
French bOR-60nS, and went TO a ball or
opera every evening, when suddenly n
gentle knock, sounding upon the out
side of my door, reused me from the
compoSItion i'm which | was buried.
| rose and opened the door, wonder
inc whether the stout, elderly lady
downstairs had made a mistake about
the ..collecting-day," or whether some
great uteratcurh had read my scribblings,
lation, or whether
There in the dusk of the outer passage
CLEANED the pale, beautiful face OF
Esther Dillon. When, a moment later,
she had entered the room, and while
she stood nervously pulling at the
fringe of the dark shawl wrapped about
her shoulders, | noticed that her face
wore an expression of anxiety and
terror, which at once thrilled me to the
heart with a feeling of intense COM
passion.
You are in trouble" L exclaimed,
eagerly. Can l do anything TO assist
you?"
The sympathy of voice and manner
which accompanied my words, caused
her brown eyes to seek my wi with a
look of mingled surprise and gratitude.
Then, suddenly covering her face with
her hands, the young girl burst into a
violent flood of tears.
Her paroxysm of heavy sobs lasted
for several moments, m during its
continuance | led her toward a chair,
standing beside her when seated,
smoothing gently with my hand the
rich, wavy masses of her soft, chestnut
hair. Presently her beautiful eyes
again sought my face; this time there
was n look of entreaty in them, ex-
quiSitely sad and touching.
You can assist me-" she murmured.
"You can allow me to remain here to-
night. Father has turned me from our
lodgings, and [ have nowhere else to
GO :,
You are welcome to remain here"
/ answered. but will you not tell
me-"
The reason of this odd request?"
she interrupted, speaking in tremulous.
weary tones. Il cannot relate the
storvto-night, its recollection. especial
ly after what has occurred, is SO bitter
" narrowing. Tomorrow morning |
will tell O all. You will wait until
then, will you not? My brain is SO con-
fused now. l am SO nervous, and weak
and miserable, that"
Say no more" l broke in. "You
shall sleep here, of course"
An hour later, when she was sunk in
n restless, moanful slumber upon my
lounge, l sat watching her pale, pure
face with something like these reiec-
tions at work in my brain:
1.-The man who turned that girl out
of doors tonight Is a brute. A brute.
Sarah Kingsland, and no mistake. She
never committed a wrong action in her
life-to that / will swear. Turned her
out of doors, indeedi 1t makes my
blood boil to think of such an outrage.
/ wonder whether he was drunk when
he did it. If l thought that he wasn't,
verify believe that I'd 90 down now
saoU, Sarah Kingsland, and give the
wretch a piece of my mind. As 1t Is,
think I'll risk his being a drunkard.
Yes, I'm going downstairs to tell him.
whoever, and whatever he may be, just
how / regard his behavior. It viii be
boldand u~nwomanly, perhaps, bit Tn
going!r
And I went. There was no an
swerf for several moments after / had
knocked at the door of those down
stairs lodgings. Presently a deep, gruff-
sounding voice issued from the cham
Der within.
"Who's there?"
~ / did not choose to call out my
name. What If I boldly entered, and
rsu the chances of finding the creature
in bedP Acting on this impulse. ]
opened the door, and found myself on
the threshold of a dimly-lighted cham
Der, where q gaunt, white-haired figure