Gloucester County Democrat. (Woodbury, N.J.) 1878-1932, 1893-09-21
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at a table ranged with old letters, dusty
books, cravats, gloves, 4 few faded bou-
tonnieres, theater programmes and dog
cared manuscripts roll upon roll. A small
trunk, half filed, 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 certain homage to fashion were
matters Of religion with him, but he
could not live 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 a 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 fash, then dis
creetly close and the shadow fall again.
His mouth was like brave Voman's,
full and finely curved, and his merry
smile showed teeth as white as a negro's.
A stalwart, youthful figure, square shoul-
ders that staggered as he walked, easy
strides that carried him untiringly for
long distances, told Of 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.
''It's getting late. There's not min
ute to spare And pulling out his watch
he gave 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 a
holy calling. They were no more to him
now than is a scepter to the king who
has abdicated.
Poor old dad! He did want to see
me in the pulpit The picture I had
taken in these togs-how he loved til
Well, it's all over for me. Goodby has
been said to every one. It's all over for
him too. / 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
strplice and psalter. fasting and pray
| ing. l wonder if he cares-nowr' And
Tom thought of newmade grave in a
western state.
''Perhaps he knows better than could
have told him in life," and he felt his
heart swelling, '.that I wanted to please
him, but l 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 sighing when
one is only 26. clean Of heart and con-
science and blessed--or cursed maybe
with the mercurial temperament, the
gay irresponsibility 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
iious 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 o 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
sanctity of the church.
And yet there were some things of the
life renounced which the artist in him
would miss The flow Of music in the
little chapel-how often he had ikened
the quivering intensity Of those rich or
gan notes to the throbbing of his own
unsafistied 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 o'clock he turned into Broadway.
The stream of late afternoon loungers
thronged that raceway Of fashion. He
brnced himself and looked around with
eager, observant eyes, for to him who
knows the town and loves it it unfolds
tale of never failing, never ending
charm. Tom felt q kinship to crowds
and the swing OF the surging Life The
perfume from bank of roses on the
street corner came to him with the thrill
of an inspiration. a beautiful woman's
sidelong glance gave warmth to his i'm
agination. He was really beginning to
live. He was free.
When at length he came to an abrupt
| pause, he stood before stage door 1t
was half hidden down u small alley, and
half filed with the scenery wagon was
unloading on the curb. He picked his
way through the debris, stopped his
broad shoulders to enter the small door
and found himself the center of quar-
tet of grimy eyed workmen.
The close buttoned individual who
4 guarded the entrance was seated in the
farther shadow against a daub represent
ing a cottage interior. He screwed up
one dusty eye before answering TOMS
question. and hi5 voice was suggestive
of cobwebs:
.'The managerl Is it Mr.. Plunket?
/ dino. Guess he ain't in.
HE wrote me to come today at o."
'sDid?7