The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1891-06-11
FELL INTO 4 FORTUNE

NHiCtEO lTlbliHc.
FELL INTO 4 FORTUNE
1t is the 1st of October, and instead
of being among the Longtails. | am
seated in the smoking room of Il we'll
known Bohemian club, inwardly ours
inr the hard fate that detains me in
town for, mind YOU. | had an invita-
ton to certain house in Blankshire,
where | would be sure of welcome of
the warmest, but pressure of work,
combined with somewhat limited re-
sources. compelled me to decline.
Things might be worse. | reflect and
the reflection carries me back to an
other 1st of October, less than Il de-
cade ago. when things were decidedly
worse How we'll | remember the
day, a glorious bright sunshine-even
in Londoui There had been sharp
frost the night before, and the unfor-
tunatc horses were slipping and fall
ing on the greasy wood pavement, l
feel Il more than usual sympathy with
them for |. too, have been slipping
and falling on the pathway Of life, and
my prospects are none OF the bright
est.
was standing at the corner of a
well-known wcst-cnd thoroughfare
where several lines of traffic converge
and it mattcred little TO me which way
| should turn my footsteps. when an
old gentleman, tapping me on the
arm. inquired if / would be good
enough to give him wing over the
crossing. He is not. he explains so
Young as he used 10 be. and is unac-
customed TO thread his way through
such maze of vehicles.
am not in the best of humOrS with
mankind generally. but | give him my
arm, and slowly for my companions
steps are rather feeble, | pilot him
over the crossing.
"Decently- off old fellow | think to
myself. Lives in the country evil
IDENTIFY, and just up in town on busi-
ness
Very slippery this morning" he
remarks.
Very, indeed" I reply; must be
pleasant in the country, though
Yes; just the day for shooting,
eh?" he returns.
some Involuntary movement on my
part must h.vc caused the old gentle
mans explanation. for it is many a
day since | had a gun in my hand, and
the mere mention of shooting had
aroused old memories.
But w have crossed the busy street,
and the old boy looks up ut me CRATE
fully, yet withal. keenIy. /. glad
enough 10 be alone. turn into the park,
and ponder within myself why the edi-
tor of the Penny PtJtyer should have
rejected my last manuscript. Where
is it, 10y the way? Thought | had
stuffed it into my pocket rs | came
out, but must have lost it.
And here am sitting in a comfort
aLle chair at my club. Oh, yes; things
are decidedly better than they were
eight years ago. when piloted the old
gentleman over the crossing.
| can not help thinking of Tommy
this morning with feelings of envy.
But it is preposterous. What chance
have of aspiring to the hand of fair
Ethel Compton, whose father has been
heard TO say that Compton Towers and
its broad acres shall be his little girls
when he is goGe, for the squire has no
son and Ethcrs two elder sisters have
married into the necrage. Decidedly
"a rising Young author" as one critic,
kinder than his fellows. has been
pleased tu dub me. would have to rise
considerably before having any chance
in that quarter.
Tommy, | should mention, is brief
less barrister, of some eight aud twen-
tv. inhcritinm from his father an in
come Of about three hundred a year,
which he supplements by occasionally
backing winners and contributing
smart "pars' to the society journals,
aud when these means fail, which is
pretty often. he goes to see "a man in
the city" who, on the strength of his
being heir to his bachelor uncle. lets
him have Il triile of ready" and
charges him some 65 per cent for the
accommodation.
am the sole tenant of the smoking
room. save old Robert, the waiter, who
moves nervously about, re-arranging
things that don't want it. and evidently
desirous of entering into conversation.
At length he catches my eye and
comes forward with the Times in his
hand.
Nice day, sir; seen the Times, sir?"
he begins.
Yes, nothing particular in it. is
there?' l reply.
"Oaly this. SIR" returns Robert,
directing my attention to the Deaths" )"
where | read rs follows:
'On September 90. at the Grange,
Blankshire Thomas Edwin jenkins,
aged 81
put down the paper and look up
at Robert.
Il thought as how that might be Mr..
Jenkins uncle, sir, he says. Il sup
pose it will be Il great thing for him,
sir?n
Il suppose So" l reply mechanic
ally, and, not caring to continue the
conversation, rise and sauuter toward
the window. whence | watch the ever
| changing crowd in the street. | arouse
myself will 70 home and work.
On my arrival | find several matters
| requiring absorbing attention for some
| hours. The next morning brings new
| duties, and it is not until late in the
| afternoon that | am free. when | go to
| the club. where | find letter await
| ING me; it is from Tommy asking me
: ~ 30 down to the Grange The