The Bennington banner. [volume] (Bennington, Vt.) 1858-1894, 1893-09-08
AND PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL 9kEk41EERENT Will TffNy
CHAPTER I.


at table ranged with old letters, dusty
books, cravats, gloves, few faded bou-
tonnieres, theater programmes and dog
cared manuscripts roll upon roll. A small
trunk, half filled, stood ON the floor be-
side him and received his wearing appa-
rel and books as he pitched them in in.
discriminatory.
Tom was not tidy. Cleanliness of per-
son and a certain homage to fashion were
matters of religion with him, but he
could motive in an orderly room to save
his life. This alone might have betrayed
his Celtic origin had it not markedly
shown itself in appearance and tempera-
ment.
The thick hair growing closely over his
forehead was black as astrakhan and as
waved. There was striking unftness
between his moody blue eyes and swarthy
skin. Dreamy, yet remarkably compre-
hensive in some moments, were those eyes
of his and at other times almost Opaque.
Something said or done could make the
pupils expand, little door seem to open,
emitting brilliant, blue flash, then dis
creetly close and the shadow fall again.
His mouth was like brave womans,
full and finely curved, and his merry
smile showed teeth as white as a negros.
A stalwart, youthful figure, square Shout
ders that staggered as he walked, easy
strides that carried him untiringly for
long distances, told of a wonderful re-
serve of strength. He was the Irishman
of Milesian antecedents without touch
of the pale Saxon to blur the type. AL
though American born, there was proba-
bly, his double among the strapping young
fishermen throwing their nets off the
coast of Galway.
A warning sun ray shot across his eye
lids and flashed beyond him like needle
of gold, piercing the dusty dimness of
the room, before he turned the key in
the trunk.
cts getting late. There's not min
ute to spare" And pulling out his watch
he gave a kick to the chair beside him
where he had flung the long sleeved al
paca gown and Oxford cap worn by the
theological students in Chelsea square.
There lay the whole story of his re-
volt. He had thrown them off.
Not for an hour, nor for night, to
find them awaiting him in the morning,
but forever. Until yesterday he had
worn these things as the insignia of
holy calling. They were no more to him
now than is scepter to the king who
has abdicated.
"Poor old dad! He did want to see
me in the pulpit. The picture 1 had
taken in these togs-how he loved it!
Well, it's all over for ME. Goodby has
been said to every one. It's all over for
him too. 1 couldn't pain him SO if he
were living"
He started up and took a turn around
the room, his eyes softening with feel
ing.
81 wonder if he knows I've cut it all
surplice and psalter, fasting and pray
ing. 1 wonder if he cares-nowp And
Tom thought of newmade grave in
western state.
"Perhaps he knows better than could
have told him in life," and he felt his
heart swelling, "that wanted to please
him, but couldn't-couldn't do it-be-
cause Of the something within me that
tugged and protested and pleaded. Per-
haps he knows"
The depression was short lived.
Laughter closely follows signing when
one is only 26, clean of heart and con-
science and blessed-or cursed maybe
with the mercurial temperament, the
gay responsibility that in crisis Of
life slips so easily into plausible kind
of selfshness.
Tom gave vigorous shake of his long
legs and commenced brushing his hair
as if his life depended on getting out its
obstinate wave, whistling as he worked.
To be sure, he had very little Of his fa-
theirs small patrimony left, and very
misty future stretched before him, but
the world was brighter today than it had
been in years. He need do violence to
his inclinations no more. 1t was all end
ed now-all that life whose demands his
soul had resisted, under which his rebel
hous heart had strained. How he had
hated the monotony of It'll He preach
er, when he so loved the world and the
things thereof! What mistake it had
beenl
During the two years spent in the old
college hidden in green, far western
corner of Twentieth street he had formed
no friendships. He was that marvellous,
isolated being, college man without a
chum. The interests of his companions
were necessarily clerical. His thoughts
had been elsewhere, his burning desire
centered upon success, but by a path
that wandered far from the hush and
Banctity of the church.
And yet there were some things Of the
life renowned which the artist in him
would miss. The flow of music in the
little chapel-how often he had likened
the quivering intensity Of those rich or
gan notes to the throbbing Of his own
unsatisfied heart-the altar sparkling like
an opal under the candle light on saints
days; the twilight that met one softly in
the secluded paths while the chimes rose
in happier peals as the darkness deep
ened. Yes, the memory Of these would
remain with him forever.
At 5 o'clock he turned into Broadway.
The stream of late afternoon loungers
thronged that raceway of fashion. He
braced himself and looked around with
eager, observant eyes, for to him who
knows the town and loves it it unfolds