, 1883-09-29

II.
Scarborough is a grim, hard-lOOk-
ing, stony-hearted town. 1t is full
Of smoke and tall chimneys. There
is not tree or a grassy square, or n
plat Of garden ground anywhere
between its center and its circumfcr-
ence. Nobody would live there by
choice, only of necessity.
James ROsewarne was to live in
Scarborough no longer. To tcrmin-
ate his connection with tbs ArglS
was to Danish him from the scene
of eight years hard work and strug-
gle. There was no other newspaper
in that district with which, his opin-
ions being what they were, he could
ally himself. \
This was the first thought that
struck him when his interview with
the editor came to an end. He was
very angry. He walked toward his
home on the outskirts with long,
rapid strides. Then, as his heat
cooled, his pace moderated, and he
began to consider his future.
What must be his next step? at
is probable" he considered, "that
there is somewhere on the surface Of
the globe, a special little corner for
each Of US, il we could only find it.
hut sauare negs are being continually
fitted into round holes. ! am one of
the square pegs, / suppose, and the
square holes are in a minority. For
every vacant post that / could fill
there will be hundred applicants or
50. l have no qualities that will mark
me out specially from the rest. l can
do my work, perhaps, as well as the
other ninety-nine, but probably not
whit better than any of them. The
prospect is about as unpromising as
it could possibly be-"
Before he reached home he had
succeeded in reasoning himself into
state Of heavy dependency. He
walked up to his door with tagging
step and a cloud on his face and an
unaccustOmed bend Of the shoulders.
"Here's dada - shouted his little
daughter, as she ran toward him, but
he merely patted her soft, smooth
cheek and took her little hand and
said nothing.
Then he glided up to his own room,
among his books, and once more took
stock of the situation. He was not
bold or a self-cOnfdent man, that is
certain. Now that the ladder which
he had been climbing had broken
under him, he felt crushed and hope
less. How would his wife bear the
blows That was the question which
he kept putting to himself. He was
afraid she would bear it i'll.
By-and-by he heard a light foot
step on the stairs, and he pretended
to be busy in the arrangement Of his
books. His wife stole behind him
with a gifts playfulness and placed
her hands over his eyes.
1t was an old joke and he endeav-
Ored to laugh at it. Then he turned
round, laid his hands on her should
ers and gazed tenderly into her eyes.
Finally he drew her head toward
him and played with her soft, wavy
hair.
Something is the matter with
you, James," she said; "what is it?'
81 am a little tired, Annie"
"And what else ?''
He stood lOokingat her, playing
with the wavy hair, saying nothing.
"James, have you left the Argus'"
she inquired, leaping to conclusions
from the expression of his face.
eyes, Annie"
She looked stricken for a moment,
as one who knew not what evil was
to follow. Then, seeing how sad he
was, she laid her arm on his great
shoulders, and said: "Well, never
mind, James; there are just as good
fish IN the sea as ever came out
of it."
There was a little trepidatiOn in her
voice, but evidently she meant to be
braYe. Her words and manner con-
tanned just that bit of comfort which
James Rosewarne wanted. He was
able to think Of the future now, il
not with more hope, at least with less
fear.
"And what shall you do, James %'
she asked, after while.
81 think l must go to London,
Annie"
"And that is what you Rave been
dreaming of all your life," she said.
at is come to pass! at last. Why
James, am almost glad, for your