Hot Springs weekly star. (Hot Springs, S.D.) 1892-1917, 1892-03-25
HIS LITTLE JOHN,
The Editor Wasn't Too Busy to writo a
Little Notice.

BbtS 3S
h Editor Wasn't Too busy to wrltc q
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 cd
itor, without looking up from his
writing.
He came in slowly, a tall. middle
aged man, too thinly clad for such a
cold and stormy night. His wrists
and hard bony hands showed red and
bare beneath the sleeves of his thin
and ragged old coat. He had an hon.
est but ignorantfaceand an awkward,
embarrassed air. He pulled off his
old hat and held it in both hands.
while he asked:
"Is it too late to get a little notice
put into the paper tonight, mister?:"
mo; guess not" replied the report
er. Got it written?"
He pointed to a table near his own
desk, and the man Shutdown 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 a
word here and there and his hand
tremblcd strangely. Once he fur
lively drew his ragged sleeve across
his eyes. Then returned to the editor
and said, in a tone OF troubled hcsi-
tation and appeal:
"l-l-don't want to trouble YOU
none, sir, but I-I-ain't used to
writin', an l never could spell good.
III you-you.had time Toto
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:
Alll write it for you if there isn't
too much of it,"
"Only three or four lines, sir"
"Oh, a notice. of a meeting, perhaps,
or something of that Sort"
NO, sir: a notice of att" the
mans voice died away to a whisper,
his chin dropped to his swelling chest,
his whole frame tremblcd, us he said,
"a notice OF a-death.."
II 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
i'm it. Such things never come easy
to them that loves their children. and
He held his faded old hat before
his face for a moment.
"How old was he:?" asked the editor.
glancing with misty eyes at a photo
graph in a little red-plush frame on
his desk, the photograph of a hand
some, bright-eyed little boy with thick
curls and smiling face.
-Four years and six months to a
day sir, and our only me-. That
makesicseem still harder. His moth
er's bout heart-broken, and IL
we'll, it's turrible hard to sit and
watch a little life like that go out.
and to think of what the home will
be without it. You got children, sir9:"
The editor pointed toward the pho
tograph, and said:
This is my little boy"
"He's a swect-lookin' little Teller. l
hope. he'll be spared to you. We've
got a good photograph of Johnnie.
That's n 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"
INC? Well, I'm a thousand times
obliged, and I-I-hope nobody'll
ever have to write such a notice fol-
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 hpaven-Erao procc