The Forest Republican. [volume] (Tionesta, Pa.) 1869-1952, 1891-03-25
THE R00M.MATES.
BY JOHN II. RAYMOND.

Henry Hadley and John Ashton had
roomed together for six months, but had
never exchanged word. There was no
quarrel between them; they were not
deaf mutes; they were normal, everyday
young men, and one, at least, longed
ardently to hear the others voice.
1t came about in this way: Hadley was
a reporter on the NeDS Herald, where he
had filed certain round of dry -as-dust
assignments for years and was not much
liked by his associates. He had tend
ency to drudge; he wore faint "mutton-
chop" side-whiskers and turned up the
bottoms of his trousers when it rained.
But he was really a capital fellow, and in
spite of his prosiac exterior he had a
little romance of his own. He was en-.
gagged to be married, aud Alice Tyler
was girl of whom any one might well
be proud. She was the niece of friend
of Hadley's, and when he proposed to
her, after long, despairing courtship,
he was astounded to find himself ac.
cepted. 1t seemed incredible that such
a perfect creature could ever be his own,
but after he had somewhat recovered
from his transports his practical nature
asserted itself, and he began to retrench
his expenses in preparation for the event
Thus it was that he eventually answered
an advertisement for a roommate.
1t so happened that the other occupant
of the room was also reporter, although
very different stamp of man. John
Ashton was meteoric genius. He was
Il waif from dead and gone Bohemia.
His forte was the strange, the odd, and
the grotesque, and his startling and un-
looked-for strokes had gone far toward
making the Chronicle famous. In his field
he was invaluable, and he had long since
killed his chance for promotion by merit
ing it too much.
The Nei0S-H6raH, as everybody knows,
is published in the afternoon, while the
Chronicle is morning daily, and Had
ley, who had made his arrangements
through the landlady, was disappointed,
when he awoke early on the first day in
his new quarters, to find that his room
mate, who had let himself in sometime
during the night, was then asleep in the
little alcove opposite his own. He had
promised himself much pleasure from
the society of man whose work he so
much admired, but the pale, handsome
face and slight form, relaxed in the Ian
guor of deep sleep, prompted him to
dress as quietly as possible and slip out
without awakening the other
1t turned out, to Hadley's infinite
chagriu, and probably TO Ashton's secret
amusement, that this was no mere acci-
dent. The former went to work early
in the morning and his duties ended
when the big presses threw ont the first
copy of the last edition, at about dusk.
Ashton, on the other hand, arose little
after noon, lounged about until dark, and
left his desk any time between one and
three o'clock at night. Consequently,
when he reached the room he invariably
found Hadley asleep, and when he awol1e
he was the only occupant. And vice
versa. Several things conspired to main
tain this fantastic relationship. Their
offices were remote from one another.
Their work was essentially different. 1t
did not make common resorts or mutual
friends. So it easily Glanced that by
day they never met.
Such was the curious train Of events
which had carried them through one
summer and into an autumn that brought
to Hadley many a miserable heartache.
A shadow had somehow fallen across the
honest fellows love affair. 1t was hard
ly to be defined in terms; that was the
worst of tit was so intangible; SO diff
fcult to say just what was wrong. There
was a change in Alice. She was silent;
she was distraught; her tears came and
went like April rain. Yet she protested
that nothing was amiss, and met his
well-meant questioning with an impa-
tience that surprised and frightened him /;
for he did not know very much of wo-
men, and her asseverations sounded to
his ears like confessions in disguise.
Above all, he felt cumbersome UNFIT
ness to cope with the situation. 1t was
like plow-boy essaying to probe SEN
sitive wound, and at length he feared to
speak lest he should precipitate some un-
known crisis.
Thus it was, when at dusk one autumn
10y hdlhNu 4Ablil Nn5 olllGG 10 AuCt 3
home to pay one of his customary visits.
1t was an indolent evening, suaYe with
the spell of Indian summer, and through
the dreamy haze that wrapped the city
even the hum of traffic sounded faint and
harmonious, like a choir of giant insects
at the approach of night. He f, Il into a
vague reyerie as he walked on, and when
he stopped mechanically before the house
he did not ring at once, but sat down
upon a little bench just within the gate
and masked by lilac bushes.
The narcotic calm of the scene and
hour had lulled him into serenity, and
night fell unmarked, until, at length,
familiar voice broke in upon his medita-
tions. He recognized it on the instant
as Aice's, but it was mingled with
deeper tones that were unfamiliar to him.
Although no words had yet detached
themselves from the tan0le of sound II