The Worthington advance. [volume] (Worthington, Minn.) 1874-1908, 1889-04-11
A CRITICAL SITUATION.
The Sandwich Man Relates une
Story of His Life.

AS Was walking through one Oh Inc prln-
cipal London streets the other day, on my
way to fulfil business engagement my at
tention was attracted by one of those huge
posters which plentifully besprinkle the
walls of the city. In resounding tones of
red, blue and bright vermillion, it called the
attention of the public to the fact that the
stirring sensational melodrama, of deep do
nestle interest, entitled: For Life or Death !;
Or, the Graves Witness" was then being
performed to Overlooking audiences at the
Royal Lorne Theater. just above the
printed announcement was picture repre-
senting one gentleman apparently in the act
Of boring hole in the floor with another
gentleman's head, and which took to bear
reference to the printed notification below.
Ny momentary curiosity satisfied, turned
to proceed on my way, when my eyes en-
countered those of a man standing by my
sido-a man whom had not noticed before,
and who might have been the very ghost of
q sandwich man instead of a sandwich man
in the flesh. so suddenly and quickly had he
come upon me. Yet, there he Enthusiastically
was, his tattered old frockcoat, once the
pink of fashion, frayed at the edges, worn
to shreds at the seams, and bullying at the
elbows; the trousers darned and patched in
dozen different places, but now gone far
beyond the last stage of repair; the patent
leather boots broken and down at heel, and
almost soleless; the battered white hat,
with black band round it, and the brim all
but gone; the Dubious red nose, the tremb-
ling mouth and the bleary eyes that told
their own tale. l stood for moment star
ing at this sudden appearance without any
particular reason, and he, in his turn star
ing at me- This pause, awkward enough in
al nf hot nh -,
which one of the parties feels impelled to
make an observation of some kind in order
to get decently away. Before l could open
my lips, however, my companion anticipa-
ted me.
"Striking sort of picture that" he said, in
dry, husky voice, and with an apologize
kind of sniff.
III coloriug has any thing to do with it, I
should certainly say it was striking enough,''
Ireplied.
''Ah!" he returned, ''you seemed inter
ested in it, but I'll warrant you arc not half 50
interested in it as 1 am. There's not soul in
all thia city that understands that picture as
l do. The worst Of it is, when once start
looking Pm unable to leave it for thinking
of what this play once did for me. Then
the police have to move me on, and that gets
me into trouble. Even if l would forget
the past, may not, for-look here !''-he
pointed to the two boards slung over his
shoulders as he spoke, and showed me the
inscription, "For Life or DEATH" in light
ming zigzag letters.
"Manv people stop to look at the posters
here and elsewhere, but there is not one OF
them to whom it means what it does to me-
To you and them it is only a picture badly
designed, clumsily cut and worse colored
To me it is the story Of my ife's ruin. Per
haps you'll wonder what Pm driving at. II
you care to listen for few moments I will
tell you" He glanced at the open doorway
OF one OF the old city churches near at hand
"Come in here" he said; Its quiet and
shady, and when tn ere's no one about they
sometimes let me go in there for a rest
You may like to hear what have to tell
and shall be glad to get these inferno
boards of my shoulders for few moments >
Thoroughly interested already in spite OF
myself-perhaps more by the mans man
ner than anything else-I followed him
Entering the porch he took the boards of
his shoulder and placed them against the
wall, and taking his seat on the bench just
inside the doorway, drew pocket handker
chief from his pocket and mopped his fore
head with it.
ITO begin with, he najd, after moment.
silence, "let me tell you that my name il
Edward Morton. Perhaps you will not be
live me If l say that I was once upon
time-what of all things in the world d.
you think-a dramatic critic! Yes, it's true
What is more, a dramatic criticism was tn
beginning and end of my downfall, and thi
10 how it happened. 1t was about ten year
ago, and soon after started my journalist
career in the provinces, that 1 took a situa
ton on ono of our great daily papers-Th
Blunderer, to wit. This succeeded in oh
tanning through the influence of friend a
court, and, for youngster just entering
the profession, it was looked upon as an i'm
mense piece of good fortune. Howeve
that may be, up to town l came, and no
being quite fool, turned by chances t.
such good account that was spoken of Of
all sides as a promising young man.
might have gone ON this way, and ultimatel
attained to bald head and a sub-editorshi
at fifty or so, but for doing two exceedingl
foolish things. made the acquaintance o
Charlie Eastwood, and fell desperately i
love with pretty actress, and one who wa
quite AZ clever and good as she was pretty
Lizzie Rayburn-you remember her2 Thi
Charlie Eastwood was journalist like my
self-s wild, harum.soarum fellow Of th
speculative sort-you've met this prototypt
1dare say; always going Of st tangent