The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1883-12-12
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How slowly he walked! Poor old
man! Joe Pollard. cx-presidcnt of the
Statesman's bank of -Opolis. His coat
was faded, his boots were scanned and
gray, his hat greasy and quaint-pat-
termed.
Only three years ago, and no more
stately, vigorous, hale gentleman walked
the streets than Joseph Pollard, Esq;
now he was "old Joe" and sometimes
''poor old Joe" When he failed, nc was
living in great splendor. People to this
day point out the Pollard mansion, and
tell you of its former greatness. Happily,
there was no dishonor attached to his
name. He had given up all: home.
horses, carriages, everything that could
be dispensed with.
His only daughter-her name was Jo-
sephine, but all her friends called her
Jeddy-gave a birthnight party only a
week. before the trouble came, on her
eighteenth birthnight. Never q happier
or l~ovelier girl than she. Universally adj
mired and respected, bright as a sun
beam, witty, merry, generous. In all
that throng of beauty, amid the flowers
and the feasting, that man would nave
been bold indeed who could have pres
aged coming i'll fortune.
Only one week later, and the dreadful
news came. Joseph Pollard was bank
rupt. The cashier had been dishonest,
several large firms had gone down, ana
the run on the bank had completed the
ruin.
The father found a place as an assistant
b%ookkeepcr, but he had formed the habit
of drinking at his w table. Little by
little he sank at last into what seemed an
utterly hopeless state, lost his business,
his pride, and almost his wits.
"Mv dear wrote Aunt Prue, when
she heard of this misfortune, put your
father away. There are plenty of places;
and come and live with me. Enough for
one is enough for two"
"Aunt Pruc," wrote Jcddy, indig-
nantly, 81 am ashamed of you. What.
counsel me to put my own dear father in
the poor-housc, for what other place is
open to him. No. will share his mis-
fortunes if 1 have 70 work my fingers to
the hone"
tJeddy, I'm useless. I'm broken down
and good for nothing. "whined poor Joe,
day after day, as Jcddy sat and stitched
her life into the work she had under
taken.
"Father. you are only tfty-eight
years DID," was the answer. "Many a
man has begun life anew at your age
"Ah! if l only could.w he would
make reply, and drink again to drown
his misery.
Jeddy had carried much of her fine
wardrobe with her into the poverty of
her surroundings. OF course, she made
over and toned down the material. but
sthe look of the lady, as one of the
coarser neighbors said, was upon her,
land couldn't be miStook."
Everybody pitied her when old Joe
came reeling home: but few knew how
patiently she put up with his intirmity.
how she soothed and coaXcd him. with
what tenderness she anticipated his
wants, and even when it would seem
that he was scarcely entitled to her re-
spect, honored him.
To her, under all his wrctchcd dis
guises, he was still father.
But her constant duties wore heavily
upon her. She grew pale and thin, then
feverish and hectic but still she
worked on.
Three times a handsome carriage and
pair were seen before the door Of her
plain little home.
The first time a rich aunt came to re-
monstratc with her and offer her Il home.
She found her preparing the poor meal
over the tiny cook-stovc.
.'Jeddy, vou are the best girl in tn"
world, but you must 60 back with me. if
only for awhile, and leave that man to
take care of himself"
This was after Il most aifcctiOnatc
greeting, for Jcddy was her f~avoritc
niece.
81 couldn't leave father" was the re-
spouse.
'But l can't see you killing yourself by
inches. What does he care! One per-
son is as good as another to II who has
lost all his finer scnsibilitics, as he has"
sob, no; at times father is his old self
-even-even ut the worst. she faltcrcd,
''he don't forget that he is a gentleman.
He never was unkind to me-"
''Fiddlesticks? Your ideas of duty
are exaggerated. Come, now-don't
dasappoint me-takc Il little rest. have
come all the way from L--on purpose
to carry you back, and the last words
your cousin Kitty said, as left her,
were:
.Mother, don't fail to bring Jcddy
back, | want to see her
Tears came to Jeddv's brown eyes, as
she reiterated:
II cannot leave fail r."
"And here you are, losing all your
beauty-all your advantages, and even
your hcalth-I can see it. For your
fathers sake, You ought to 90. 1t would
make a new creature of you to see old
sights, and old faces, and to live a while
Ike a Christian. Why, child, the walls
are damp; how do you live"
;'It isn't living, aunt, it's only stay
ing" said Teddy. trying bravely to
smile; ''but that | can't help, while
father lives. There's nobody in all
this wide world to care for him but me
I know l might live in ease and comfort
if I went with You; and oh. sometimes
my heart does long so for q little of the
old-time Joy. 1t would be like looking
into Paradisc-but i can't leave father"
There sounded a heavy sigh. Both
women turned round to see the old,
gaunt man in the doorway, the tears
streaming down his cheeks as he held
forth his trembling hands as if in bcne-
diction.
$50, Teddy, go, angel--don't stay for
me-I'm not worth your care" he said,
pitifully.
But Jeddy thought otherwise. Long
after the splendid carriage had gone, she
sat there holding the gray head against
her shoulder, soothing and petting him
and lending q willing car to his promises
of amendment.
The second carriage brought a stylish
young gentleman, with whom her friends
had often coupled her name. He came
with an offer of marriage, but Jeddy
gave him the same soft but determined
answer, II couldn't leave father" and
he. too. went away, disconsolatc.