The Jersey City news. (Jersey City [N.J.]) 1889-1906, 1892-12-27
UNITED AT YULETIDE.
Tie Heroine Never Heard the
Chimes Tor Weeping with Joy
and Love.

He gazed sententiously at his boots as
he spoke, and then, with a more Modified
information, remarked, They leak, Sid, my
boy; they lcak-leak like sleeves. sir; bat
no NATTER
Then he wiggled q p~rotruding toe the
better to emphasize his statement, and at
every wiggle the obedient sole leather
futtered away from the upper and tapped
in softened resonance with the sound of a
muffled c~astanet.
If you only knew them you'd come"
persisted the younger man. why, major,
it's Christmas, you know, and-and-
well, they know you're a friend of mine,
and they're not SO stuck up as you say, and
if you'd only come just think Of the fun
you'd have. 1t would be just like the old
times over again. You'd fancy yourself q
boy. Pretty girls, you know; ~jolliest sort
of a dinner; old fashioned as you please"
Major Mackling was forty, n he looked
ffty-two. Where he came from or why he
came nobody seemed to know or want to
know. His nose was long and pointed, his
bristly mustache was gray, and his hair
was thin about the temples. There were
deep lines from his n~ostrils down to his
chin, and around his eyes were networks
of queer little crow's-feet wrinkles. Still
ne had not q hard sort of a face, for though
there were lines between his eyebrows and
on his forehead the eyes themselves were
soft and dreamy and gray, rs If they were
always looking for something beyond the
heavens. And IL the truth be told those
| gray eyes were the index to the majors
character. He was a dreamer-a disap-
pointed dreamer. And disappointed dream
| ers, when they reach a certain age, begin
to get tired OF waiting for the dream that
never comes true. Hence the lines about
the eyes and ~nostrils.
Cyril Thompson-they always called him
Sid-lked the major because he was his
own antithesis. He was only twenty-five,
but dreaming was not one of his vices.
Sometimes, of course, as boys will do, he
would paint himself pretty fancies of hap
py things in the future. But those fancies
were homely little genre sketches, SO to
speak, when compared to the golden can
vases of the majors more trained and vivid
imagination.
He placed his ideal In an accessible spot
near by; the majors never came nearer
haunts of men than the loftier peaks of
the Himalayas.
The friendship Of the pair was a pure
case of met by accident. While doing the
town one evening Thompson had recklessly
entered one of those restaurants where a
Diner a la table d'hote; win compris;
%cinquante sous" is the main and sole at
traction. Many times had he heard of the
poetic Bohemia which congregated itself in
such places, and he pined to see it at home.
At the same table with him sat an elder
ly man, with a long nose and grizzled gray
mustache. He knew how to use his nap
kin, and never let his knife subserve the
proper ends of a fork.
II beg your pardon, sir" said he, with
the bow of a Chesterfield, but can you
oblige me with a nickel for these penniess
l like to tip Dominic, you see, sir he con-
tinued. but penniesl you know, sir, PEN
niesl" and he shook his head in a gesture
Of ineffable contempt.
His manner was mildly patronal. He
even seemed to be comforting q kindness in
joining his new friend in q couple Of glasses
of curacao. But still he was charmingly
original and mild. His demeanor invited
confidence, and he gradually drew from
Thompson his entire genealogical tree. He
took fifteen minutes to learn that Thomp-
son pere sold coffee on the wholesale plan.
Three minutes later he was aware that
AAOhlRoOA ARA 0IR6A la faAC u
tears when Cyril was still an infant. From
that 1t was but a step to infer that the
youth was an only child, and long before
they parted the major knew all about a
little darling, with blue, blue eyes and
gilt edged curls, who was altogether the
sweetest girl in this whole wide world, the
l~oveliest and the best.
sol" said the major as Cyril told him.
II knew that long ago., my boy. I've often
felt that way myself"
And as they walked home together, the
~youngster going a mile or so out of his
way to accompany his new acquaintance,
they exchanged further condolences at a
rate that was entirely in the old mans IA
vor. AS they neared the corner of a street
where cheaper lodgings abound the major
stopped to say goodby.
But you haven't told me what you are,
major. Where is a fellow to find you ?u
asked Thompson.
u live down here, my boy-top floor, 1853.
What am l, you say9 Nothing. my boy,
nothing. Onlya dreamer-just q dreamer
"a dreamer of dreams-a disappointed
dreamer. Good night, my boy, good night
He disappeared in the shadows. He was
gone.
But somehow the lad got interested.
Professional dreamers of dreams were new
things to him, and the next day he again
hunted up the major. He found that the
old gentleman was the fortunate possessor
of $50 a year.
Just ten dollars a month for rent, my
boy, one dollar a day for v~ictuals, fifteen
dollars a year over for minor extrava-
gances; but the clothes, my boy; d-nthe
clothesl They must depend upon luckp'
The spring had gone by and the sum
mer, and the strange friendship had grown
stronger. Then the fall came, and Cyril
did not see the major quite SO often, and
when he did SO it was to talk of nothing
but a little girl with shining gold curls
and blue, blue eyes.
And on those occasions, after the boy had
-----~--e- -4.--
said good night, the major would sit uI
for hours and hours on his bed, and with
his head in his hands mediate hal
through the night. Then he would lower
the gas and orawI In between the sheets.
What does it all matter nowp" BIZ
would sigh to himself, what does it al
matter nowp They are all lost, all buried
all, even the dreamstn
And the panorama of q dead decad,
would sweep past his eyes ere ever they
closed in restless slumber. The sunny
Manhattan in the rorth fla r;rI that 1ouac