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 of the prin-
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 overfowing 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.
My momentary curiosity satisfied, turned
to proceed on my way, when my eyes en-
cOuntered those OF man standing by nv
side-a man whom had not noticed before,
and who might have been the very ghost of
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 battered 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 a 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
all conscience, was of that character in
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.
''Strking sort of picture that he said, in
dry, husky voice, and with an apologetic
kind Of sniff.
IF coloring 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 l am. There's not soul in
all thia city that understands that picture as
l do. Tho worst of it u.s. 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
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.
"Many 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 picture badly
designed, clumsily cut and worse colored
To me it is the story Of my life's ruin. Per-
haps you'll wonder what Pm driving at. If
you care to listen for a few moments 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 rest.
You may like to hear what have to tell,
and shall be glad to get these Internal
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 off
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 moments
silence, 'let me tell you that my name is
Edward Morton. Perhaps you will not be-
live me if say that was once upon a
time-what of all things In the world do
you think-a dramatic critic! Yes, it's true.
What is more, dramatic criticism was the
beginning and end of my DOWNFALL and this
10 how it happened. 1t was about ten years
ago, aud soon after started my journalistic
career in the provinces, that took a situa
ton on ono of our great daily papers-The
Blunderer, to wit. This I succeeded in OBJ
tanning through the influence of friend at
court, and, for youngster just entering
the profession, it was looked upon as an i'm.
mense piece of good fortune. However
that may be, up to town l came, and no,
being quite fool, turned by chances to
such good account that was spoken of on
all sides as a promising young man.
might have gone ON this way, and ultimately
attained to a bald head and sub editorship
at fifty or so, but for doing two exceedingly
foolish things. made the acquaintance OF
Charlie Eastwood, and fell desperately in
love with . pretty actress, and one who was
quite a. clever and good as she was pretty
Lizzie Rayburn-you remember her7 This
Charlie Eastwood was . journalist like my.
selt-s Wild, harun-Scarum fellow Of the
speculative sort-you've met this prototype
1dare sayi always going OF st q tangent