Millheim Journal. [volume] (Millheim, Pa.) 1876-1984, 1886-11-04


Libraries, galleries of art, operas, balls,
voyages to Europe, to the Nile This
was life ! lie wanted more Of it
more of it.
Mrs. Mitchener had asked him to
come often had offered to introduce
him to her friends, Il gay young set, ,
she said. He walked up and down the
room, flushed and painting. He had
never dreamed of such world lie
must see more of it How stale and
dull the Latin aud mathematics SET med
now
But how to compass it ? He could
not go again without a dress. suit. He
had seen one that day in second hand
shop, very cheap. His blood grew hot
at the idea of wearing some other
mans cast off clothes, but he pushed
that thought aside.
How could he raise the money ? He
drew out his watch. 1t was Il good
one, the one luxurious possession in
the family. HIS father had solemnly
given it to him when te left home, say
ing:
1T was my fathers. I've kept it in
my bureau drawer for twenty years.
Take it, Dayid. You're goln' ont into
the world. You'll never disgrace it,
my boy. Remembering the old mans
face as he said this, David thrust it
back into his pocket.
What snob l AIN ! To part with
daddy's watch for suit of old
clothes y
But the next moment he thought
that he could pawn il. He would soon
have it back. Save the money, or earn
it-somehow.
1t was not as if he were yielding to
vicious temptation of the town
gambling or drinking. The society of
these high bred people would elevate,
educate him. There was tap at the
door, and Kitchener came in.
No, can't sit down F; I'm in hur-
ry. Brought message from my moth
er. She would like to have YOU join an
opera party tonight. Eight or ten
young people. Meet at our house, box
at the opera, and back to supper after
ward You'll come ? That's right.
Good morning y
No no ! Stay Mr.. Kitchener =
His common-sense suddenly rose strong
and clear. Il ought not to begin this
life. It's your life, not mine. I'm n
poor man. have four years of hard
work here before me, and after that
my living to earn. Even the hour at
your house yesterday ruined me for
study to-day
We'll ! well y said Jourdan. care
lessly. Don't be so vehement about it.
Going once to the opera will not make
you a man of fashion for life. Think
it over and come. Give the college the
go-by for a day.
oh, by the way = he added, coloring
little. Can be of pecuniary service
to you, Kershaw ? No, don't be offend
ed. have more of the filthy lucre
than / know what to do with. The
fact is, l was just going to buy a ter
rier that l don't want. Now, if l
could lend the mo2ey to you, it would
be real pleasure to me.
Thank you = Kershaw stammered, g,
touched, yet angry. Il do not need any
money. l have everything | need
clothes and all, he added, with q gulp.
Now l am in for it y he groaned,
when MitcheEer was gone. IF don't
go to their party, they'll think | had
no clothes fit to wear. The watch has
to go! y
He paced the floor, one minute blam-
ing himself for snob, the next thrill
ed with delight at the thought of the
evenings pleasure. His books lay neg
lected all day. He could not quiet the
raging whirl and confusion in his mind
enough to think of study.
He decided on nothing until nearly
dark, when he rushed out, pawned the
watch for one-fourth it's value, and
bought the evening suit. There was
not money enough left to buy the
shoes, gloves, etc. necessary tu COM
plete the dress. When he was ready
to 60, even his inexperienced eye could
see that his costume did not Sc: on him
as if it were made for him.
But what matter ? His friends his
welcome-the music. Who would care
what clothes he wore ?
Arrived at Mrs. Mitchener's, he did
not find himself at all at ease. That
lady was quite occupied with her du-
ties as hostess, and received him with
careless civility, giving her attention
to her other guests. They talked of
people and things of which he knew
nothing. The tall awkward lad, bis
hair carefully oiled and parted, his red
hands proti uding from his short coat.
sleeves, sat silent, and felt thoroughly
miserable a:d out of place. Now and