The Portland daily press., 1888-12-25
HIS OWN ADMINISTRATOR.
A chri stmas Story.
Written Tor the PnEss.l
BY E. cAyAzzA.

overcast. presaging snow. The air was very
still, as IL in eXpectation-one could not
have told whether of the coming storm or of
the sunrise of Christmas. Nature, as usual,
was non-committal. Mr.. Jonas Marlowe,
sitting before the consolatory blaze Of a
Franklin stove had not doubted that Christ
mas would come in course of the next TWEEN
ty-four hours, but he was certain with re-
gard to the storm. Rheumatism arrived
with the east wind, and seated herself upon
Mr.. Marlowe's knees with determination
as Of ono who has brought her knitting work
and means to stay. This guest, abominable,
who, unlimited, came, had set the mind of
Mr. Marlowe quite out of harmony with the
chord of Christmas time. rhe spirit of his
inward barometer had gone down with that
of the glass which hung, near its companion
thermometer, just outside his window; and
Mr.. Marlowe's sentiment in regard to the
world and its jewellers marked very low
degree. He had, after all. some grounds for
complaint, and-since he was in a low-spirit-
ed mood-lt would have been an unkindness
in whoever had tried to take away his griev-
ance from him. There is pleasure, occult
and all his own, that dog finds in gnawing,
worrying. growing over bare and not re-
cent bone; and il would be thankless task
to offer him nonresistant bit of fresh meat
in exchange. The metaphor may appear lit
tie fattering to Mr.. Jonas Marlowe; but as
with the dog and his bone, so with the old
merchant and his grievance.
His son bad cruelty disappointed him;
whenever he turned it over in his mind,
Richards fault appeared to him greater and
more objectionable. The boy was unduti-
full, ungrateful. What fine porcelain was
the fellow made of, that he was too good to
follow in his fathers footsteps? He ought
to stand beside his father, handle samples of
grain, keep books, rise from a cerkship
without favor, more than would be shown to
others, until the sign of the door should be
changed from u. Marlowe to j. Marlowe &
Son then, one of these days, to 4. Marlowe.
That would have been when he, the senior
partner, should be laid aside from work.
He, weak with old age, near his hundred
years it might be-for the 8Iarlowes were
strong stock, and he might look forward
with some hope to another quarter-century,
or even dozen years more than that-he
would have lived his life over again in his
son, the successor 10 the great business.
And the boy had turned his shoulders upon
such chance, had gone to Boston to take
place upon the staff of newspaper-had
chosen TO be Literary Fellow
These last words were pronounced aloud
by Mr.. Marlowe with stamp of the foot,
for which his rheumatism iebuked him.
That physical pang he charged also!to the &C.
count of his sen.
Ibid you speak, daddy?" asked clear
young voice, and Elfrida, his daughter,
leaned forward from the embrasure of the
old-fashioned window seat. She had been
watching intently the passers who cane up
the street, one Of those avenues which the
uncertain tides of fashion have left forsaken
in their old fashioned responsibility, OF the
original inhabitants Of the street in its paimy
days, Mr. Marlowe was nearly the last loyal
resident. Men might come and men might
go; but he remained, he and his family, in
the great, gravely foursquare house built in
the Colonial period. 1t stood there, quiet
rebuke in the best of brick, to the frisky lit
tie houses that called themselves Queen
Anne, or the conscious limitations of its own
style, Of modern and slight construction,
which in the irreverence of coming decade,
may be defined as Eau-de-Colonial architec-
ture.
Mr.. Marlowe, father more irascible than
unindulgent, had allowed his children TO
paint, paper and furnish the old house at
their pleasure; only reseryiDg to himself
front room in the second story, at the south
easterly corner, where everything was kept
H. 4. l.
stove with its relative brasses; the armchair
-three-cornered as to its seat, with alittle
shelf annexed to one of its arms-the chair
which had been the throne of several posi-
tive Marlowes, each in his time; the mahog
any secretary, surmOunted by bookshelves.
full Of drawers and pigeon-holes, avowed
and secret; these objects, and others, be-
longed to old times which the successful
merchant liked to remember
To the inquiry of Elfrida, her father had
replied by testy mo- She resumed her
watch at the window; but in the moment
that she was looking away the expected let
ter carrier had come up the dOorsteps and
rung the bell Elfrida fastened down the
stairs to take the letters from the house
maid whom she met halfway. She had
scarcely time to glance at the addresses, for
her father was calling to her in inpatient
tones: Anything for me, Elfrida?"
She sorted the letters between her slender
fingers. zone, two, three for you-all bust
ness letters, daddy. IF not delivered 10 ten
days return to Messrs. This, That and The
Other'-that sort of letters, yen know"
A curious flicker Of disappointment moved
H.
cept for his high, narrow forehead, with
stee-blue eyes that never changed in their
regard-une might have thought that, at that
moment, the old merchants face was capa-
BILE of some tenderness. A second look
would have given contrary idea. He turned
to watch Elfrida, who had seated herself in
a chair at little distance behind him to read
the single letter which was her share of the
mornings mail.
"WLo wrote your letter, Elfrida2" He
asked it quite indifferently, it would seem.
His daughter lifted her handsome dark
face, with its brilliant eyes and red muffin
GUS mouth, and met his searching look. sit
was my brother Dickw
"What does he say? Is he tired of his
nonsense, his rhymes and his highfalutin
literature? Would he like to come home
again, and live ON his father? HeyP"
'He has not said so; l think he would not"
answered Elfrida, biting her finger in order
not to speak any unfilial word.
LET him stay away then-he is not wanted
here. What would he have? How did
spend my youth! Not in idling at college
with a few books and much foolish company;
not nibbliDg pen handle and looking up
into the air to catch rhymes like flies, /
worked, worked. My uncle held my nose
right down to the grindstone, till it was
sharp enough to smell money wherever there
was any. | worked on his wharf, unloading
hogsheads of molasses it was a great day
for me when l went mate of q brig-old
Jeremy Ruggles, master-and he had heavy
hand with a ropes end. Up the mast, in and
out of the cordage, cross-trees all slippery
with sleet, the ropes rubbing hot through my
hands. Not much like your violin-strngs-
but you are nothing but girl, Elfrida. Let
your fool Of brother take hold of the ropes,
let him work his way. as did. Then set
tied down at home here; twisted my sea-
lees round the bars of countiDg-room stool.
My hands were stiff with the ropes and my
elbow had only been mended few months
since old Ruggles broke it with marlinspike
DID complain, did I take to poetry? kept
hooks and at need HANDLE - :, = 4