The Forest Republican. [volume] (Tionesta, Pa.) 1869-1952, 1890-12-17
THE DOOR THAT STOOD AJAR

When young Mr.. Powers ctme to New
York, his father, the pastor of the flock
in Connecticut in which Mr.. Powers had
been reared, gave him letter to Mrs.
Mills.
Mrs. Mills was the widow of the Rev.
o. B. Mills, and kept select boarding
house. 1t was an eminently respectable
boarding house, and it was clean and
orderly. 1t was social privilege to be-
long to it, although there was little else
of consequence ON the dinner table but
the silver fruit dish with which the
parishioncrs of the late Rev. o. b. Mills
had presented him when he gave up his
charge.
Nor was the boarding house very well
heated, and one night, indeed, Mrs. Mills
had come suddenly in the hall bedroom
occupied by young Mr.. Powers, ard had
observed him reading by his student lamp
wrapped in his overcoat and with cover
let around his kness. He was so dis
tressed at this that she overlooked the
slight to her management, and after that
Mr.. Powers kept the door locked, and
when his landlady knocked fastened to
rid himself of his wraps before admitting
her, for he was gentle soul and thought
full for others, and did not wish to hurt
her feelings again.
New York, which had promised to be
so full of strange and moving possibii-
tiles, disappointed Mr.. Powers. He
read law all day and E. P. Roes novels
at night, or escorted the Misses Mills to
concerts and lectures or on their rounds
of good works in the missions. They
were enthusiastically philanthropic, and
were lady directors of a society that sent
little waits of the slums to the seashore
for one week at S5 week.
Their talk around the tea table with
the silver fruit dish upon 1t was chiefly
of laws for ameliorating the condition
of the factory girls, or to give the sales
ladies, as they conscieutiously called
them, the right to sit down "during
hours
Young Mr.. Powers blinked at them
across the table through his spectacles,
and smoothed his light hair abstractedly
with his hand. He wondered if this
was the sort of life in great metrop-
oils he was always to lead. 1t was not
at all the sort of life he had promised
himself, or that he had read about, and
he felt dimly that it was not the only
one. He doubted if it could be, and
felt, uncertainty, that he would some
day rebel--he did not know quite clearly
as yet against what, but he would
rebel
Where were the. fascinating wicked
ness and the temptations of great city
which his father had warned him
against; where were they to be foundl 2
Why did the adventures which befel
others pass him by, why was not the ro-
nance, the stirring, throbbing life Of the
great centre to be hisl
He determined finally to seek for It as
Haroun Al Raschid sought it, OF as De
Mussett and Dickens sought it. He
would go forth and wander in the streets
at night and drag it out, even though
it cost him his peace of mind and his
reputation. Waits of the slums and po-
lite conversation over tea and canned
fruits were not satisfying. Adventure,
Iomance and crime even, were what he
felt that he must taste.
And in this spirit and in this pursuit
did he first stumble across the house
with the barred shutters.
1t came about on warm night early
in the summer. The house stood on the
corner of Sixth avenue and Twenty
fourth street, and its lower floor was
rented by a man who sold cigars.
Young Mr.. Powers was walking home
to supper one evening when he noticed
two men stop in front of the side door
on the cross street. They glanced up
and down the street as if fearful of OBJ
servation or pursuit, and then lodged
through the partly opened door, as if
diving into space, and closed it behind
them.
But not so quickly but that young Mr..
Power saw that beyond it was richly
furnished hallway lit by hanging lamp
and guarded by q colored servant In
brilliant livery.
A club, perhaps, thought young Mr..
Powers. But why this precipitation
Why is the outer door left ajarl and why
does no light come from the upper win
dowsl He felt that he was upon the
brink of terrible discovery. What it
might be he could not guess, but he had
read of opium joints spread with Turk
ish rugs and rich divans, of gambling
dens as gorgeous as the throne room in a
palace, and of grand halls in shabby
buildings where men played with their
souls for stakes. He had also read that
they were murdered frequently aud
dropped down trap doors into loathsome
cellars. His reading had been as varied
as his experience had been limited.
IL nrnn..l Al. .trnnt and mad lnn ~