The Penn's Grove record., 1883-06-09

a second floor, he realized that, for good
or i'll. he had either not had, or if it
had come ohm unawares, he had some
how missed his chance. Tom Berry
more, who never walked without an
original five-act comedy of his WI in
his coat pocket, set it down to the ini-
guilty of what every genius who has never
belonged to it knows at the dramatic
r ng."
The public did not know, but Tom
did, that the select few whose names
were figuring everlastingly on every
playbill were in league with metropoli-
tan management generally, for the sole
purpose of 'str angling outn rising ge
Mus. Their signs and passwords we 2
known. There was no secret about it,
They met once a week in a ~coal-cellar
in the Adelphi, and burned an official
MS, bought by the pound from a starv-
ing outsider.
Here he was dying, poor fellow. And
as with his wasted hand, he stroked the
fair hair of the pretty child, a slender
girl of sixteen, who sat by his bedside,
a mist came over his eyes, and he cried
passionately, but in a thin, feeble, and
failing voice:
"sWithout mel Merciful Heaven,
what will she do without me ~
His little daughter kissed his white
forehead, gave him some toast and
water, and, with a bright, hopeful
smile, whispered a great deal of loving
chatter in his ear.
1t ought to have rallied the forces of
a man dying in poverty and want, of a
broken heart, for its substance was as
follows
Everything was taking a turn for
the better. Uncle Bartholomew had
sent a check for 60, which would pay a
third of the rent. That was something,
wasn't it ? But what was that to the
letter from Mr.. Tarragon, the manager
of the Theatre Royal? That was quite
glorious /; could be read again and again.
Could words say more than this ?n
THEATRE RoYAL.-DEAR SIR I
have read your piece, 1.-The Dark
Waters" again carefully, and like it,
and propose putting it up for my open
ing ON the 10th. This will give us three
clear rehearsals. As to terms, we will
say a pound an act. Does this suit you
Pm sorry you are still indispc sed. If
you can't look in on me to-day 1 viii
call on you tomorrow and bring my
leading man with me. 51e wants a
little more fiat" for himself in the tag
and will explain. He is right about
this. Act Ill must have a little more
backbone in it. Think this over
Yours, faithfully,
SYDNEY TARRAGoN.
"There, wasn't the good fortune com
ing at last 2"
1.-THE author of Ozark Waters said
nothing, but drew the hand of the
loving little speaker to his pale lips.
At that moment "a portly parsonage
with a flaXen beard, concealing a very
cruel and ugly mouth, pushed himself,
without knocking, into the sick-room,
and sat himself down in the one easy
| chair, with his hat on.
"a nice fellow you are, coming down
to this place and getting i'll. Iheard at
| the club last night you were really bad
but you don't look it.. Why, you've
| twice as much color as | have. What
a humbug you are"
Mr.. Bartholomew Give got up quite
annoyed.
81 might have saved myself this jour
ney." he said, glancing savagely around
| the room ; ''its clear I've had it fol-
nothing"
The dying man looked at his portly
visitor steadily. A faint fire kindled
in his eye.
"Idid not ask you to take it, he said.
measuring out his words slowly, with
| the emphasis of restrained but rising
passion 81 haven't sent for you, and,
as | am dying, in the name OF God, il
you have anything human about you,
go, and let me die in peace" He drew
his child close to him.
The other glared at him in earnest
now.
'Oh, this is your gratitude, is it y
he growled, with set teeth. swell, i'll
Just like you. You've always been tn,
same-never beer grateful for anything
anybody has ever done for you. Here
I've come down from town merely t.
see what | could do with your girl, i
anything happened, and you abuse mt
as if | hadn't helped you out of half
dozen messes-yes, over and over again
And you back her up against me, de
you? Why, but for me she'd have tt
go to the work-house and you know it
Bet you rail at me like a mailman
You'd better look out, and not driv'
lie 100 ldI.
Mr.. Bartholomew Give had not mucl
that was human about him, but
struck him this was a neat speech, an,
he gave it with point. The child mad
a movement toward him. She tried t
speak, but her quivering voice broke il
tears. She could only clasp her faths
tightly in her arms. He was sitting u
erect in bed W. wild, fatal flush i
his cheek. His portly young brothe
had, with an instinct of self-preservs
ton, drawn near to the door that led t
the sitting-room beyond, for he did no
like being cursed by anybody, even on
death bed, but in a wal of words, wit
a safe retreat before him, 1t great
soothed him to have the last. And S
he took the handle and held the doc
ajar, not noticing that, as he did 81
two figures entered the sitting roor