The Opelousas courier., 1893-07-01

e my syss sndt he
figures in the dusty ledgers-a young
face with clear, bright eyes-and I fall
into a day-dream and forget that I am
old and poor and commonplace.
She the only child of Jere Hartman,
the millionaire mill-owner, and as gen.
tie and good as she is beautiful.
/ have watched her grow into
womanhood. I have watched her char
acte1 deepening and widening and de-
veloping toward the ideal of my
dreams.
And all these years Ihave been learn
ing to love her.
Surely love is not wholly wasted
though it is hopeless. l am a better
man that I have loved Nellie Hartman.
No. I build no air-castles.
] am forty and she eighteen.
I am only her fathers bookkeeper
and she is the heiress of millions.
There was O time when little Nellie
Hartman rode on my shoulder, hunted
my pockets for goodies, and escaped
her nurses charge several times q day
to toddle down to the mill in search of
''her Jack Spencer" Later she
brought her school tasks, the incor-
Latin verbs and the unconquer.
able examples in fractions, to the same
old friend, who was lever too busy to
be bothered by little Nellie Hartman.
She is as unaffected and cordial in
her ~friendliness as ever, and sometimes
when she lays her hand on my arm and
looks up into my face and asks why I
come SO seldom to the Hall, and have
] grown tired of old friends, of her
then I find it hard to answer lightly, to
smile calmly, and I go away with e
heartache.
The girl does not lack for friends.
Grim, stern old Jere Harman's little
bright-faced child, motherless since her
long ago found a tender
spot in the hearts of the village folk.
In the cottages her face is as welcome
rs sunshine. The children hang on
her gown, the women sing her praises,
and the toughest mill hand has always
civil word for her, and a lift of the
zap as she passes.
She has her young friends, too,
among the country gentlefolk. Young
Harry Desmond is often at the Hall.
L is rumored that he is the fortunate
Iuitor of Jere Harman's heiress. He
8 a fresh-faced, good-hearted lad.
is for youth, and they are young
together.
Gray-haired Jack Spencer, what
nave you to do with cloves young
The strike!
The mill is shut down and the
strikers gather in knots along the viii
age street and discuss the situation.
The cut-rates have caused the trouble.
Jere Hartman is a hard man and a hard
He holds the fato of these
people in his hands. A few cents less
them, o few dollars more to him.
This seemed to him to settle the
question. The times were dull-he
would reduce wages. The HarmaD
Mill operatives went out in a body.
The first day of the strike Big John,
he. weaver, who headed the strikers,
,ame to Jere Hartman with a delegation
arbitrate the matter.
To them Hartman said Return to
york at my terms or stay out and
Monday I hire new hands il
'ou are not back in your places. A,
ong as ] own this mill I shall be mas
er here"
This was his final answer, and NJ
lords OF mine, no warnings of the muir
nurs and threats that grow and deeper |
mong the men, will shake his will.
There is talk of firing the mill amons
he mad-brained ones, but Big Johr
hakes his head.
THAT were ehopping the $ off te
pite the face, men. Ii the mill were
urnt how would that help us to worI
nd wages? Nay, it must be othe,
"Aye, we must live; but if we do not
ct our rights by fair means we viii
ave them by FOUL cried another.
They meant mischief. Thave warned
ere Hartman, but he will not heed.
The strike is over.
The night is ended, and I sit alone
the Office in the gray dawn, sick and
lzzy with the horrors of the nights
;perience. , shut my eyes and the
pcture stands out before ne-the dark
ght, the hall with its lights glowing
It through the windows, the gay party
young people in the drawing-room
CLEAN Of torches outside, the mob
desperate men, the angry, upturned
ces. There was O tramp of feet,
,arse shouts, and a stone crashed
a window and shattered the
Iandelier.
The music stopped with a discordant
ash. There was instant confusion,
d above it all there were the hoarse
les for Jere Hartman.
I sprang through the piazza window
4 faced the men. They knew me
ii, and Big John shouted:
We've naught against you, John
encer. We mean no harm TO any,
\ the master must hear It's. Bring
| the masterin
Tome like honest men. in daylight,
q talk Z over caiInly, ] urged mot