The morning call., 1892-04-10
MISS MALONEY

1t often happens In this world that
square peg finds itself In round hole.
Miss Maioney. as size sat in the bar parl0r
of low public-h0use, felt that this was
sadly true in her case. She knew that she
and Ter surroundings were incongruous.
She knew that she could never learn to cor
respond with her environment For she
was young and pretty and loved purity and
refinement. When, distracted by troubled
thoughts. she looked up from the volume OF
Matthew Arnoid's essays, which she was
trying to read, her eyes dropped again
quickly, and an expression of disgust gath
cred on her pale face, for she saw dull,
dirty room. square and ugly. Black horse
hair-covered chairs stood round square
table which was Uttered over with Sporting
Chronicles and Shipping Gazettes tobacco
and beer stained. There was a vulgarly
colored wallpaper, with publicang' adver-
tisements adjoining il. a smell OF mingled
tobacco and drink peTmeatad the dlngy
place; sounds of rough voices and coarse
words filed her ears, and all the whlie heT
heart was aching for the sweetness ana
light" which had hitherto frightened her
guarded life.
Only few weeks before this Miss Ma
loney's father had sat c0ntentedly at that
table. his glass before him, his Nyms, Bar
dolpbS and Pistols around him. Then, what
they called conyiyiallly had Teigned in the
now deserted parlor. The table had been
banged with applaudlDg fists until the
glasses danced at the conclusion Of song or
speech. The company had grinned and
roared over coarse jokes or the stories of
shady tricks on the turf or in the billiard
room. They had registered bets in dirty.
dOg-eared books with earnest solemnity !:
had hacked horses and prize-fighters with all
the enthusiasm which Englishmen conse-
crate 10 sport; and sometimes ended their
" Nectes AmbrOSiana" Dy q free fight
which in nowise diminished their God
fellowship when sObriety set in once more
or at least the Quasi-SODriety which was the
normal condition OF old MaloDey and his
set
The end to all this came suddenly. Ma
ioney's daughter arrived in time to spend
few hours by her fathers deatbbed and to
comfort him with her minlstrations end
gentle words She had never been in his
home before and had never loved him so
much as now, when she saw from what he
had shielded her. 1t had often troubled the
girl that her rough Old father refused to let
her live with him. Bad as he had been he
loved her too well TO let her share the hide
Gus and hateful life that had grown pleas
ant to him. All the better side OF his nature
showed itself in his treatment of his only
child. When his pretty young wife, the
daughter of poor schOolmaSter, died, he
took his little Polly to widowed aunt of
her mother and asked her to take charge
of the child make her lady like your
self. ma'am," he said. Polly will have
plenty of money one of these days, so spare
no expense. III find the needful."
He was as good as his word. He paid
royalty for his little Polly and often came to
See her with his pockets stuffed with sweet
meats and toys. But as the girl grew up
she began to wish for more from her father
than playthings. She wan ted 10 love him
and share his daily life. and this he would
not hear Of. She knew nothing of him, ex-
cept as the generous giYer If everything
she wanted. Her own life was peaceful and
pure, and Of his she was absolutely IN the
dark.
But Maloney did not succeed Ia making
money as fast as he had hoped TO do He
spent a great deal on Polly. He gave a
large sum for the public-house Of which he
was tenant and Immediately afterWard the
neigh borhoOd began TO ''go down." for one
of :he mysterious reasons which now and
then make neighborhoodS 90 up and down.
His customers were not always profitable.
lie encouraged q class OF sporting gentle
men, and gathered about him a set of bet
ting and priZe-6ghting biackguards, who
helped to get him into many difficulties
r. but never saw any need for helping to get
him oft of them. SO that when Miss Ma
loney sat alone in the dingy bar parlOr and
tried in vain TO comfort herself bV reading
Matthew Arnold's Essays in Criticism
she knew that far from having 'plenty of
money" she had only few Shiilings in the
world now that the funeral expenses and
her fathers debts were paid, and that she
inherited from him nothing but this vile
publiC-h house with its bad traditions and IN
sayOTy notOTiety.
Al first, after her fathers death. Mary
Maloney had felt too desolate and TOO horri-
fed with all about her 20 realize her posi-
ton. She would not send for her aunt to
come to her; she could not bear the thought
than any one in heT old home should know
where and how her father lived. So she
bore the wIetchedneSs of it all as best she
could, waiting impatiently until arrange
ments could be made to take whatever
money vas left, and fly back to the happy
security OF her dear aunrS home. She in
tended TO place manager in the public
house; or, Ii that could not be done, to find
tenant for 1t who would take over the
stock and furniture; and In a few weeks
more she hoped to be at liberty TO turn over
this dark page Of experience and forget all
about il.
Forget it-yes, that would be very neces-
sary, for Mary knew that she could never be
happy again in the innocent life of old
unless she could forget 1t. To 60 back to
the quiet village where she knew every face
and lie uneyentiul history of every person
to spend her days once more in delightful
her aunt and her friends-in music and
drawing and prettlDesses of all sorts; To
visit the sick old women. and read the Bible
TO them between gifts of shillings and pack
u VI
the babies and teach the rosy-faced boys
and girls in the Sunday-school; to cultivate
her roses and dress her garden and love the
sweet country lanes and the sunny fields
with satisfaction which had given life
hitherto an idyllIc charm-this was what she
meant 10 do: and to forget-to forget, as
horrible, unreal Dightmare-these days
passed in what had been her fathers home
And yet. as Miss Maioney sat day after
day In the bar parlor and watched the new
has Ot ~ o. nrip nd urlt
ing, she began to see that this too was real
and no nightmare, ugly as 1t was, and tC
fear that she would never be able 20 forget
it. She watched, with horrible fascina-
ton, the succession of wretched and de-
graded faces of the men, women and chill.
dren who passed in and out of her public.
house, leaving their pence, or sometimes
their shillings. in the till, which was
emptied at night into her pocket. She
watched while the little children with
white faces and miserable rags for clothing
reached up to the sbarman cracked Jug:
and cups to be filed with poisonous beer
CT spirits; she saw the women, old
and yonng, but draggied and dirty one and
ell, cabling or abusing the mea who treated
them, or refused to do so. She saw weary.
looking women come In and try to get away
their husbands; and husbands dragging out
half-drunken wives. She noticed the men
who were regular customers, who hung
about all the evening, running up a score
which WAS only partly wiped out every
Saturday; and. worst sight of all, she saw
the tawdrily dressed, sometimes pretty bu,
shalneless-faced girls who followed them
in. aud never shrank from drunken lest O,
oath. Aud Mary felt her cheeks burn. and
her heart grew heavier. Very soon the con.
yictior forced itself upon her that she could
not live by money made In such a trade as
this, and she determined to sell the pu bile.
house outright
Eyes. MISS" said the house agent whom
she went to consult, Its a very good corner
house. and viii fetch a fair price. The
license can no DOUBT be transferred to 9
purchaser. and"
But" interrupted Mary, 81 will not sci
# for public-house. That is not what ]