The weekly Thibodaux sentinel and journal of the 8th Senatorial District. [volume] (Thibodaux, Lna. [i.e. La.]) 1875-1898, 1893-06-24

E5'ter's companion made a quicis move
ment OF menace and | rushed forward
IN time to wrest from him u cue which
he was eXcitedly tlourishing. Bolter
started back when he saw me and
looked mortified. He was flushed and
warm and there were circles around
his eyes. / hurried him to the street and
began to upbraid him.
Il didn't think it of you, Joe, to get
into a disturbance in such a place. You
haven't been drinking?"
NO, no, not that, Mr.. DARRELL" he
answered, quickly and ~fervently. ':Not
that, for her sake-for the sake Of"
lie paused and a moist light cam
into his eyes.
"Oh, no, my boy!" 1 said, bantering-
ly, then you are in love?'
He was silent for a moment, then he
tossed his head and said, dryly:
Il have reached hat mysterious
period in an affair of the heart when
the divine she is beginning to exert an
influence"
All at nce his tone changed to one of
subdued intensity, and, Selling my arm,
he went on hurriedly:
Mr.. Darrell, will you do me a favor?
It's early, and you have nothing to do,
have you? l want you to come with me
to see her. Will you? Please!!"
There was a note of lnsistence in his
voice that made me curious and led me
on.
lie conducted me to a dismal 'fur-
nished ROOM on the fourth floor of a
house hatsmelled abominably of boiled
ham. He motioned me to a chair and
turned up the lamp light. From the
next came the noise of a sewing
machine in operation.
Il know what you're going to say"
he began, at once. 'She is in there"
and he inclined his head toward the ad-
joining DON There is a woman in
that room whom l love as mortal man
never loved woman, and who loves me
as angels love-God bless her! That
woman once got a dangerous idea into
her head. and she nursed and fostered
1t until now it is consuming us both.
That idea was that-that l was destined
for a literary career"
He looked at me sharply, but I was
studying the Pickering lamp flame.
st is that which keeps me at it
%plodding and suffering and starving,
though well I know I'd better be a brick
layer. Look here!"
He took a scrap book from a closet
and handed it to me. 1t was nearly
filed with clippings from the -, short
ctorinc h;c4o ,,I o%Inu o~4.1o.
The caption of one caught my y and
l started. Then l faced Bolter, with a
look full of "inquiry-for every one of
those articles had been written by my
self.
'She thinks them mine-mine-and I
never undeceived her. / had to do it
| had to! Now she wants me to start
ont, as she calls it, to write a novel or a
play, and don't know what to do"
He pressed his hand upon his breast
and then crossed to the communicating
door and opened it. The sound of the
sewing machine ceased and a woman's
voice said:
lis that you, Joe?"
Yes; will you come here, please? 1
want to introduce you to Mr.. Darrell,
of the -, and a dear friend of mine"
There was a movement in the next
room. My eyes were on the scrap book.
Darrell, here is the woman l love-"
A strange introduction! | lifted my
head and met the gaze of a soft-eyed
woman of sixty.
l hid my confusion in a low bow as
Bolter added, tenderly:
MY mother"
He came to me the next day and
pleaded with me, as assistant city ed
itor, to get him a trial on the -.
Merely to get rid of him leniently l told
him to come back in an hour. He did
and we used him. Two of our men