Democratic messenger. [volume] (Snow Hill, Md.) 1869-1973, 1881-06-18

) malice; but very different version o
} it was carried to Jobs ears.
J All the pride of the upstart revolteC
} at the idea of the servants knowing he
} had once existed on this shabby, sham
} bling coffee-room walters charity.
} He held his peace, and bided his time.
The next day customer complained oi
, plate being dirty which O'Sullivan
had brought to him. That evening Sui.
, livan received his wages to date in the
Office, and notice to quit from the pro.
prietress.
He went, trembling and downcast, to
Job, and begged him to say good word
for him. He found it so hard to get a
berth now, and he wasn't so strong and
able to rough it as he had been.
Job said he was very sorry, but it was
no good talking to him. The missus
said he was to go, and it wasn't any
body's place to interfere with what the
missus said.
So Tim O'Sullivan went ont into the
world with his wages in his pocket. He
felt wild with himself, cross with Job,
low and dispirited. He should have to
go back to London, where his wife was
paying the rent of little room with her
needle, and live on her till he could get
another place.
He felt cold and miserable and low.
Before going to the station to take the
London train, he went into a public
house and called for some hot whisky.
The whisky warmed and cheered him,
and he took more, and grew talkative.
There was another man there at the bar
who said he was a waiter out of place,
and to him O'Sullivan poured out the
story of his wrongs, and then they had
another glass together, and another.
The train to London went without
Tim O'Sullivan that night. When he
woke up in the morning he felt a strange
pain in the head, and found that 1t was
bandaged up. He looked around the
room and asked where he was; they
told him in the hospital. He had been
brutalIy knocked about and robbed. He
had been found in a side street late at
night with his head cut and bleeding
and his pockets turned inside out.
Two months, now better now worse,
Tim O'Sullivan lay in the hospital, and
Job never came once, or sent.
The hospital people sent letter to
Tins wife at his request, telling her
how i'll he was, and in a week she was
by his side. She looked SO pale and
thin and worn the man hardly knew
her.
How did you get here, Nell?" he
said.
"Oh, I managed it, Tim" she an
swered, with faint smile. "I got n
lift from town to town."
She never told him that she had
walked the whole distance from town,
living on bread and water and sleeping
where she could, that every penny she
had might be spent on the sick man.
She got some employment in the lit
tie town where he lay i'll. She earned
enough to keep life together, hoping to
brave through the bad time till her hus-
band was well and about again, and able
to earn money.
But Tim O'Sullivan never earned any
more money. just when the doctors
thought he was going to improve, he
took change for the worse. The mis-
chief to the head developed in an unex-
pected way, and it was supposed some
thing had formed on the brain, for the
agony became worse and worse, and
the man seemed almost mad.
He grew quieter by degrees, and at
last he made no complaint at all.
"Thank goodness, he's quiet at last, :"
exclaimed the nurse, who had been dis
turbed several nights by the sick mans
screams. "He's dropped off to sleep" :"
Tim O'Sullivan had dropped off to
sleep, and so soundly that nothing ever
woke him again.
When the poor wife came and found
her husband dead, she hid her grief,
and then asked what she was to do
about the funeral.
It was more than limited to her at the
hospital that if she had an important
engagement in town she might go back
and not trouble about the matter. The
doctors would have post-mortem ex-
animation to ascertain the cause of
death, and they would be very glad, if
Mrs. O'Sullivan had no objection, to
keep Mr.. O'Sullivan's body altogether.
But Mrs. O'Sullivan had very strong
objection to poor Tim ending his days
in small pieces for the amusement of a
crowd of giggling boys, and she said so.
After the post-mortem she would see her
husband decently buried.
every well, - said the house surgeon.
| 1HeH bue pOuy VIII ue given up 10
you, if you can bury it yourself-or to
the parish, if you can't"
The parish? Buried by the parish !
Her Tim-the man who had been so
good and generous, and such loving
husband to her for thirty years No
the idea was too horrible. She would
get the money somewhere. She would
go to Job. Surely he would save his
old benefactor from the disgrace of a
pauper's funeral.
Mrs. O'Sullivan went to Job Scudder,
and managed to see him. She preferred
her request, but with what success we
have already seen. Mr.. Scudder posi-
lively refused a five-pound note, and
couldn't see what possible objection
any sensible corpse could have to get
ting n funeral for nothing. He felt that
it was one of those stuck up notions
which are very much out of place in
poor people, and he bade the wife of
his former benefactor good morning.
But her parting words he heard, and
they remained in his memory. The idea
of his being buried by the parish was
too absurd. Why, he had already saved
nearly enough money to retire to-mor-
row, if he chose.
Tim O'Sullivan had his pauper's fu-
neral, and his wife passed on into the
great crowd, to be heard of no more by
the prosperous head waiter of the Coun-