The Penn's Grove record., 1886-02-20

"No.o," said Tim; ''0ut if he had
a-wanted 'em sold, he'da sold 'em him
self "
Timothy, now when you have the
chance to get a chunk ofmOney, it is
flying in the face of Providence not to
do it. What if you was to be sigkI
What would you do then? If you get a
little money together and lust put ii
out to interest, the interest is a-gOin'
on night and day, day and night. You
money is a%-earnin' for you while you
are sleepin'. You just go and put in
the advertisement"
Tim, in common with a great many
people, felt what he found 1t quite inn
possible for him 10 express. lie was
no match for Mrs. Marshall onthe sub
iect of selling the tickets, though,
aside from his great longing to go to
the opera, he felt it would be a mean
act to sell them. He twirled his CAP
round and round, and looked furtlvely,
anxiously, toward Uncle Tony.
Perhaps three times during the if
teen years that Anthony Marshall had
lived with his second wife, he had quI-
city, firmly and successfully asserted
himself in direct opposition to her Will.
On these rare occasions he had done
this to vindicate some nice point of
subtle honor, or delicacy of feeling, fol
Anthony Marshall was a born gentle
man.
Now be raised his head slowly, and
spoke with a shade more precision and
distinctness than usual.
kMirou-daf Tin, mucf mt call fbo
tickets. 1t would not be honorable.
Tim and l will go to the opera aud use
them, as the gentleman who gave them
to him expected we should"
Mrs. Marshall recognized in the tone
and manner that this decision was final
She was not a stupid woman. She
therefore arose, and with a look Of lof-
ty commIsserating disdaln remarked:
"Some people ought to be born with
two silver spoons in their mouths"
Then she marched out of the shop,
her crinoline-distended skirts moving
down a wide swath of small moyables
as she went.
When the door had slammed behind
her, Tim, in silence, hastily ate the
lunch of bread and meat which he had
taken with him in the morning. Then
taking one of the triangles from the
cupboard and his box FRONT the floor, he
put his hand on the latch and turned
with a hesitating:
"WelI, Uncle Tony2"
sit will take an hour to walk it, Tim.
We will start at seven O'Clock. Good
by, my boy, and good luckl' said Uncle
Tony, wrapping up the shoes he had
finished.
The gale which had been blowing all
day had fallen with the setting Of the
sun, to a low, cold, crisp wind. Here
and there the dingy white of the half
melted snow sparkled with the gather
ing frost, in the light of the large noon
Up and down the streets OF the great
grimy, h%urrying, neyer-Sllent city, the
trailing robes of pale white light and
shadow made all things dImly beauti-
full. Down the streets, now in light,
now in shadow, Tim and Uncle Tony
went silently on their way, Uncle Tony
taking a queer little back step at regu-
lar intervals, to keep himself in pace
with Tins hating gait.
"Uncle Tony" said Tim, looking up
into the old mans face, "wo-would
you mind telling me how it all hap
pened2"
The old man hesitated a moment, and
then said:
Tim, | will tell you; but | must be-
gin pretty we'll back, OF you wouldn't
understand it.
"You see, Tim, my father was a mu-
sician by profession, He had great
musica! talent, and a touch of genius,
just enough TO make him ambitious,
and he was never very successful. He
wanted me to keep away from the mu-
sic, but, Tim, L couldn't do it. And |
tell YOU" said the old man, growing
quite emphatic, 81 could play marvel
lousy well in those early days, for one
who was not a genius.
"Ycu remember / told you that |
played in the orchestra at Drury Lane
Theatre. Well, the great folks liked
my playing, and some of them sent for
me to come up to West End almost
every night, after l was through at the
theatre. 1t was IN that way that | be-
came acquainted with Adelaide, Sir
William Norton's only daughter"
Uncle Tony's tone had been growing
lower and lower, and now, with bent
head, he walked Gu in silence until
Tim said, softly:
"Wh-where is Adelaine now, Uncle
Tony?"
"Ah," said the old man, raising his
head. and lifting his rusty silk hat rev.
erently, she's an angel; an angel with
God these many years.
A few moments and he went on hus-
kily;
"After a time, Tim. we stole away
and we're married, There never was a
lovelier being, Tim. than she was"
The old man sighed heavily and went
on III silence until Tim said:
"Was she ever in America, Uncle
Tony2"
Eyes" said he, . rousing himself,
eyes, When Sara was born. AIDE
laide called her Sara for her dead moth
er. When her father heard of it he
wrote her This was the letter, Tim.
l remember every word of it: You
have insulted your lady mothers sam
ted memory by calling Anthony Mar
shall's daughter by her name. l will
never look upon your face again, not
hear from you, if / can avoid itl''
''He was a mean, hard one, wasn't
hep" SAID Tim, his brown eyes flashing
indignation.
II don't suppose he meant to be. |
believe l can understand how it was"
said the old man, in his gentle, direct
way.
"After this Adelaide grew more
frall every day, and, for the sea voyage
and the change, we came to America.
She was better at first, and then she
failed in that fatally sure but impercep-
tible way which only victims of cen-
sumption do, and growing more radi'
antly beautiful, Tim, with each sue
ceeding day"
The old mar dropped his head and
did not speak again until some one,
going in the opposite direction, shout
dered roughly against him and reused
him.
at was then, Tim. that l learned to
work on the shoes. l only had what /
earned by playing in the orchestra.
You see there. was no great folks in
New York who wanted me to play for