Lewiston teller. [volume] (Lewiston, North Idaho) 1878-1900, 1890-07-31
STORY OF THE BROKER.
Reprinted from "Short Stories

spected the yard OF the large three
story house. Young wives were
standing about in the hall, resting
their arms upon the banister. ex-
pecting their husbands.
Her. husband came home first. A
thick-set, bald-headed little old man,
with liver-colored face, staggered
slowly toward her. They scarcely
noticed each other, then they both
looked out into the yard together.
"Why do you come home soearly?
You always come at a time when
dinner is not ready! Is there no BUSH
ness?" the woman began. The
man did not rnswer; he was looking
out watching his youngest child, a
beautiful. blonde boy, trolicking and
playing in the dark. inhospitable as
plalted yard.
And the woman again spoke.
What are you looking at?"
''At this yard! I shall probably
never sec it again. I am
sick. very sick; shall never be well
man again! Take the business sign
from my door,
He cast one last glance out into
the yard; then, with trembling hands,
he unscrewed the sign from the door,
the zinc plate on which was inscribed
i'll gilt letters: "Josef Gross, broker"
Then he went in and went to rest.
To rest? He closed his eyes, and
from under the compressed lids one
old. solitary tear stole out.
What is the NATTER" asked the
woman.
1.-The hcart--the old trouble. On
the street was again seized with a
spasm, fell to the ground, and n
servant led me home. knew that
it would end like this; my foot pains
me violently, as it boiling water were
flowing through my veins. Prepare
my bed"
do not lose courage! The physi-
clan says there. is nothing the mat
ter with you"
Nothing but that l must die!
And then what.will become of your"
"Ofthe girl?"
And of the little child?"
A vainly suppressed, low moan
forced itself up from his broad chest.
The child asks in a pampered voice:
Papa, what have you bought for
me?"
''Nothingv'
Then his daughter came in. His
oldest child. The image Of the moth
err. A tall figure with a berry mouth
and curved eyebrows. She was not
yet eighteen, but the pretty dimple
unsier her chin was already deepen
ing. Standing side by side, the
daughter and the mother, one might
have taken them for n pair of sisters.
And as the broker looked at them,
first n wild, then dull, despair seiz.
ed him. What was to become of his
wife, what ofhis marriageabled nugh-
ter, if he should die. The wife could
perhaps find bread and shelter with
the daughter? How is she to find a
husband? Who will marry her with
out money? Nobody! Or perhaps
some course uncouth mechanic. which
isstill worse. How his oldest son will
go to ruin, who, in spite OF his great
intelligence, has not improved one
jot; u thoroughly good hearted
fellow but who perhaps at this very
moment is playing cards some where,
for no one has had as much as a
glimpse of him since yesterday. And
what, finally, is to become ofhim who
is almost as near to his heart as his
vile? What is to become Of his
Youngest, tive-year old son. his splen
did boy? OF this too delicate, spoil
cd idol? God knows what he, had
life been spared would have made .
him.
But it cannot be; the broker feels
that he must die. Once, twice more
the spasms of the heart seized him
more violently than ever before; then
the feet began to swell, and it came
what he had expected with mortal
dread, but still prepared, as one con
dcmned to death expects the down
ward swoop of the AK that has been
lowering over his head-dropsy.
His father and his two elder brothers
had died from this disease. The
broker had observed the beginning
Oft, and was acquainted with the
conditions that served to hasten the
catastrophe-the exciting vabanque
game with lite; he was present when
Ills father one day, during a brokers'
transaction on exchange. broke
down He knew that the consequent
ees of an unhappy speculation
changed one OF his brothers from a
vigorous man into dying skeleton
He had seen it, and all their dying
began like his.
The image Of an approaching
death wou.d not have been so ter
L. 4 l.