The weekly messenger. [volume] (St. Martinsville [i.e. St. Martinville] La.) 1886-1948, 1889-01-26

forget how, when the first man addressed
him as Bob" he exclaimed: "NIy name
is Smith, sir, Robert Smith" or the
scalding tears of modification that
rushed into his eyes as the man jerked
off his hat, made him satir:cal bow and
cried: BEG pardon, Mr.. Smith, glad
to have the honor of your acquaintance.
After that Bob accepted his name like
he did the uniform and basket and
ira by novels as part of his calling and
stock in trade.
You see he was of the least possible
importance in the world. He came and
went on his dreary rounds with fruit or
candy or papers or books, sometimes
cursed by an impatient traveller.
Sometimes in the freemasonry of youth
a fresh young face would smile SYM
pathetically upon him, and occasionally
a babe would reach out its tiny hands to
him and touch his grimy hand with rose
leaf fingers. At such times Bob's honest
eyes had trick of growing big and soft
with unshed tears. and he would look
very hard out of the window "a the fy-
ing landscape to keep, as he said in his
slang way. from stopping all over him.
SELF" and as he made his way out of the
car with the little tie of human kinship
With tho ,uorIl ,,o,,,, obo,,, b;, boor+ he
would forbear to press ill-timed sweets
upon the lovers and bridal couples, or
to vaunt the merits of his especial brand
Of chewing gum to Old ladies without
teeth.
1t was hard life, and at night when
he curled himself up on his little chest
of wares in the corner of the baggage
car, while the men sworc at the heavy
trunks and excessive baggage, Bob's
thoughts would go wandering back to
the little cabin in the piny woods where
he was born. lie had only to shut his
eyes and he could see the homely little
room in which his mother and grand
mother sat by smoldering fire. There
was the trundle bed in which his little
sister lay asleep, and at his mothers
feet, pillowing his head against her knee
like dog. was jim. Poor Jim, man
in size, yet never to be more than little
child, with his great hands beating the
empty air, and his tongue repeating an
idiots gibberish.
''Poor Mamsey," said Bob with a
groan, thinking of the patient face bend
ing above tina, unlovel- fa-~, Some
time, when I'm a mSn'.-iae set ms teeth
hard together-''so sometime Pm goin to
fix her up like vestibule palace car"
He paused, fairly overcome by the
gorgeousness of the idea, with buffay
an porter, an you bet she'll be cat on
wheels then"
Perhaps Bob was thinking rather more
than usual about home, because the
Colonel was on board the train. The
Colonel had not called him "Bub." He
had laid his hand on Bob's shoulder and
called him my boy" in tones that went
to the lonely little heart. and told him
all about the folks at home, for Bob's
mother was the Colonel's nearest neigh
Dor. Finally, when Bob would have
left the Colonel to his cigar, he had
turned to friend and actually intro
duced the train boy to the President of
the road Bob could hardly believe it
even when he heard the Colonel say
ing:
"You should have known his father,
sir. Finest soldier ever saw. Went
into the war, sir, without even gun.
Said: "If there's any fighting and they
need me, therc'll he guns enough and to
spare Fought all the Wy through the
war and cried like baby when Lee sur
rendered. Named this boy here after
his old commander. And Bob's chip
Off of the old block. Father died, and
he's making brave fight for the mothe
and little ones" and the Colonel, whose
heart was as soft as a baby's where
women and children were concerned,
drew out HI big bandana and blew his
nose with q violence that left his eyes
quite red and moist.
When the Colonel spoke of brave men
Bob might have told a story he had
heard repeated often enough around the
hearthstone or the little cabin. How the
Colonel had dragged his father, in the
heat of the battle, out f;om under the