Waterbury evening Democrat., 1888-08-27

At last he spoke: in a sweet and silvery voice, that in company with such eyes was an awful and fantastic lie, he spoke
 Well, this is pleasant indeed. To run across an old comrade in flesh and blood when you thought him five fathom deep in the salt water Is one of the pleasantest things in life isn't it. lad? To put on sack-cloth and ashes to go about refusing to be comforted, to find no joy in living because an old shipmate is dead and drowned, and then suddenly to come upon him doing the very same for you-why there's nothing that compares with it for real hrarty pleasure; is there, John? You seem a bit t'zed, John; it's too good to be true, you think? Well. it shows good heart; shows what l call real feeling. But you always were true friend, always the one to depend upon, eh, John? Why don't you speak, John, and s;.y huw glad you are to see your old friend Hsri, alive and hearty?"
 1,h Inns lips were trembling, and something Soenlcd working in his throat but no sound came.
 An, John, you were always the one for feel :lS a thing, and now the joy is too much for you. Considerate, too, it was of you, and rEElly kind-but that's you, John, all over-to wear ;n old shipmates cap in affectionate memory. No, John, don't deprive yourself of it..
 The wretched man felt with quivering fin gers for the cap took it of, and laid it on the rock beside me, but never spoke.
 .tnd who is the boy John? But, there you were always one to make friends. Every body loves you; they cant help themselves. Lucy loved you when she wouldn't look at me wculd she? You were always so gentle and quiet John, except perhaps when the drink WAS in you; and even then you didn't mean any harm; it was only your play, wasn't it, Juhn?'
 Johns face was a shade whiter and again something worked in his throat, but still he uttered no word.
 Well, anyhow, John, it's a real treat to see you-and looking well, too. To think that We two, of all men, should have been on the j!b-boom when she struck By the way, J ohn wasn't there another with us? Now come to think of it, there must have been another What became of him? Did he jump, too John?"
 John found speech at last. No: don't think he jumped" The words came hoarsely and with difficulty. I looked at him; cold and shivering as he was the sweat was stream ing down his face.
 No? I wonder why"
 No answer.
 You're quite sure about it, John2 Because you know it would be a thousand pities if he were thrown up on this desolate shore with out seeing the faces of his old friends. So hope you are quite sure, John think again.
 |" He didn't jump"
 "No?"
 " He fell"
 Poor fellow, poor fellowr The words came in the softest, sweetest tones of pity. "1 suppose there is no mistake about his melan- choly end ?"
 :" saw him fall. He just let go and fell it's Bible oath. Captain--it's Bible oath. That's how it happened; he just-let go-and fell l saw it with my very eyes, and--Captain. ii was your knife
 The Captain gave Il sharp keen glance smiled softly, set his thin lips together a> though whistling inaudbly, and turned to me
 So you know John, my boy? He's a good fellow, is John just the sort of quiet, steady Christian man to make good companion fol the young. No swearing drinking, or vice about John Railton; and so truthful, too. the very soul of truth! Couldn't tell a lic for all the riches of the Indies. An, you arc in luck to have such a friend? It's not often a good companion is such good company"
 I looked helplessly at the model of truth to see how he took this tribute; but his eyes were still fixed in that eternal stare at the sea,
 And, so, John you saw him fall? You have very sharp eyes. John. However, the poor fellows gone; fell off, you say? don't wonder you feel it so; but John, with all ou1 sympathy for the unfortunate dead. don't you think this is good opportunity for reading the will? We three, you know, may possibly never meet again, and I am sure our young friend-what name did you say? Jasper?-l am sure that our young friend Mir. Jasper would like the melancholy satisfaction of hear ing the will"
 The mans eyes were devilish. John, as hC faced about and caught their gaze. looked round like a wild beast at bay.
 "Wil? What do you mean? I don't know I haven't got no will"
 None of your own, John, none of youl own; but maybe you might know something of the last will and testament of-shall We saS another party? Think, John; don't hurry think n bit"
 Lord, strike ne"
 Hush, John, hush! Think of your young friend MT. Jasper. Besides you know you were such & friend of the deceased--suc q real friend-and know all his secrets so thor oughy, John, that am sure if you only con sider quietly. you must remember; you whc watched his last moments, who saw him fall did you say|'
 No answer
 Come, come, John; I'm sorry to press you but really our young friend and must insist on an answer. For consider, John, if you re-
 
 to go-reluctsntly of course, but still We shall have to go-and talk somewhere else. Just think how very awkward that would be-
 You devil-you devir'
 Johns voice was still hoarse and low but il had a something ini now that sounded neither of hope nor fear.
 Well, yes; devil if you like but the devil must have his due, you know. Yes, John devil or no devil, I'm waiting for you. As tc having my due, why, lucky fellow like you shouldn't grudge it. Why, you've got Lucy John; what more can you want? We both wanted Lucy, but you got her, and now she's waiting at home for you. It would be awk- wark if I turned up with the news that you were languishing in goal merely put case John-and little Jenny wouldn't have many sweethearts if it got about that her father and suppose you are her father--"