Millheim Journal. [volume] (Millheim, Pa.) 1876-1984, 1881-09-29

A rough-looking man? Yes, perhaps
l am. We amt all of lis responsible
for our outside husk, no more than n
| horse-chestnut or a haZel-nut Is. The
kind of life | lead can't be lived Ill
white kid gloves and dress coats. l
wasn't brought up with many advan-
tages, and I'm only brakeman on the
Rensselaer, and Saratoga line. Old
Jones was telling you about me, was
he, sir? He'd better hold his tongue.
There's more profitable subjects of con-
versation than / am. But old Jones
means we'll enough, and If he told you
to ask me how that stripe of white hair
came on my black name, | amt the
man to go back on him Oh, you
needn't beg my pardon, sir | don't
mind talking about it now, though the
time was when I couldn't speak of it
without big lump coming in my
throat.
We hadn't been married long, Polly
and me, when it happened. Polly was as
trim, bright-eyed slip Of girl as ever
you'd wish to see. She was one of the
mattresses in the Albany lunch room /;
and the first time l ever set eyes upon
her made up my mind to make that
girl my wife. So, when they raised my
wages, took heart and asked her if she
would have them with me, with a
wedding-ring thrown into the bargain.
"Do you really mean it, Jake p said
she, looking me full in the face, with
thnsA dark -hluA- AyAa -nf hArs, that ara
like the skies at night.
"I do really mean it, Polly" said I.
''Then," said she, putting both her
hands in mine, "I'll trust you. I've no
living relation to advise nae, so can
only take counsel with my own heart. "
So we were married. 1 rented little
one-story house, under the hill ON the
height, that overlooked the Hudson-a
cozy place with good-sized wood-pile
at the rear, for winter meant winter in
those parts, and the snow used to be
drifted up even with our door-yard
fence many and many cold gray
morning. And everything went smooth
until Polly began to object to my mates
at the White Blackbird, and the Satur-
day evenings 1 spent with the boys,
after my train was safely run onto the
side track at the junction.
"Why, Polly, girl" said I, where's
the harm? A man can't live by himself,
like an oyster in its shell, and social
glass never yet harmed any one. "
"No," said Polly, mot social glass,
Jake, but the habit. And if you would
only put every five-cent piece that you
spend for liquor into little Bertie's tiny
savings bank"
"Pshaw !" said l. "Tm not drunk
ard, and 1 never mean to become one.
And no one likes to be preached to by
his wife, Polly. Remember that my
girl, and you'll save yourself deal of
trouble"
I kissed her, and went away. But
that was the beginning of the little,
grave shadow that grew on my Polly's
face, like creeping fog over the hills,
and that she has never got rid of since.
It was a sore point between us-what
the politicians called vexed question.
[ felt that Polly was always watching
me; and l didn't choose to be put in
leading strings by a woman. Sol
shame to say it-I went to the White
Blackbird oftener than ever, and [ didn't
always count the glasses of beer that l
drank, and once or twice, of particu
larly cold night, I let myself be per-
shaded into drinking something stronger
than beer and my brain wasn't the kind
that could stand liquid fire with i'm
punity. And Polly cried, and I lost my
temper, and-well l don't like to think
of all these things now. Thank good
ness they're over and gone!
That afternoon, as / stood on the back
platform of my car, with my arms fold
ed and my eyes fixed on the snowy
waste of fat fields through which the
iron track seemed to extend itself like
an endless black serpent, looked my
own life in the face. I made up my
mind that / had been behaving like
brute.
"What are those senseless fellows at
the White Blackbird to me-" muttered
I, "as compared with one of Polly's
sweet bright looks? will give the
whole thing up. I'll draw the line just
here now. We shall be off duty early
tonight. I'll go home and astonish
Polly|
But, as night fell, the binding drift OF
q great storm came with it. We were
belated by the snow which collected on
the rails, and when we reached Earldale
there was little girl, who had been
sent on in care Of the conductor whos