The true northerner. [volume] (Paw Paw, Mich.) 1855-1920, 1892-02-17

The Editor Wasn't Too Busy to Write a
Little Notice.

The Editor Wasn't Too Busy TO Write n
Little Notice.
1t was almost midnight when he
came slowly up the three flights of
stairs leading TO the editorial rooms
and knocked timidly at the door.
Come in, called out the city ed
itor, without looking up from his
writing.
He came in slowly, a tall, middle
aged man, too thinly clad for such Il
cold and stormy night. His wrists
apd hard bony hands showed red and
b3'e beneath the sleeves Of his thin
and ragged old coat. He had an hon
est but ignorant face and an awkward,
embarrassed air. He pulled off his
old hat and held it in both hands,
while he asked:
us 1T too late to get little notice
put into the paper tonight, mister?"
mo; guess not" replied the report
or. Got it written?"
He pointed TO table near his own
desk, and the man sat down before it.
He took the pencil between his stiff
ened fingers, bit at the end of it
while in meditation, drew the pad Of
paper toward him, and began to
write.
But he made slow and seemingly
painful work of it. He crossed out q
word here and there and his hand
trembled strangely. Once he fur
lively drew his ragged sleeve across
his eyes. Then he turned to the editor
and said, in tone of troubled hest
tation and appeal:
"I-l-don't want to trouble YOU
none, sir, but LIANT used to
writin', an never could spell good.
If yOu-you - had time to to
write the notice for me I'd try to pay
you what you think it'd be wuth."
Something in the mans tone and
manner touched the editors heart,
and, busy as he was, he said:
"l'll write it for you if there isn't
too much Of it,"
"Only three or four lines, sir"
"Oh, notice of meeting, perhaps,
or something Of that sort?"
mo, sir; notice Of IA" the
mans voice died away to whisper,
his chin dropped to his swelling chest,
his whole frame trembled, as he said,
"a notice OF a-death!"
Il am very sorry" said the editor.
kindly and with genuine sympathy.
What is the name?"
'JOhnnie,' we never called him
anything else. He was named john
after me, but I'd rather have it print
ed Johnnie
when did he die?"
This evening, sir. 1t was very
sudden, and it comes harder on that
account, though God knows it would
be hard enough if we'd been expect
in it. Such things never come easy
to them that loves their children, and
Il"
lie held his faded old hat before
his face for moment.
"IIow old was he?" asked the editor
glancing with misty eyes at photo
graph in little red-plush frame on
his desk, the photograph of Il hand
some, bright-eyed little boy with thick
curlS and smiling face.
-Four years and six months to
I"J oiiJ anu Oul OulJ Ouc. Il IdU
makes it seem still harder. His moth
er's bout hcart-broken, and Il
well, it's turrible hard to sit and
watch little life like that go out,
and to think Of what the home will
be without it. You got children, Sir?"
The editor pointed toward the pho
tograph, and said:
''This is my little boy"
Hes sweet-lookin' little Teller. |
hope he'll be spared to you. We've
got a good photograph of Johnnie.
That's one comfort. | wouldn't take
a million dollars for it now. Now,
how much will it be for writin' and
prirtin' that notice."
Nothing at ALL"
mo? Well, I'm Il thousand times
obliged, and II hope nobodyll
ever have to write such a notice for
you bout that little boy of yours.
He wiped his eyes with a handker-
chief wet with his tears, and went
down the stairs as slowly as he had
come up, and back to his poor little
desolate home, to walk softly with
bowed head in the presence Of death,
and to try to comfort his bruised
heart with the thought that the dear
little boy had gone to join the hosts
Of heayen.-Free Press.