The Clarksburg telegram. [volume] (Clarksburg, W. Va.) 1874-1926, 1893-04-14

" VIZ mi not be the best
WIs1S lfz ~ scho 81 III fo s.ss 4
49, - boy, yet poor
anhad scarcely
hHown any other. He could not re-
member when the long waiting.rooms
with their tiled floors and drcary rows
Of stationary settees and crowds az
frying people, were not quite "a Ia
miiiar 70 him and more homeiilSc than
his mothers small, bare house. which
he knew as little more than a place Tor
eating and sleeping.
Az an age when any ordinary baby
might have been frightened into con-
yuisions by the shrek of a locomotive
Joe. securely fastened in his cab
would stare for hours through tho
great window undisturbea BY the Ia.
cessaiat rush and ronr of arriving and
departing trains.
he had been only six months old
when the dreadful accident happened
which AZ one fell stroke made him
fatherless and transformed him from I,
strong, well developed infant to i piti.
full creature, which even death refused
to take.
The old yardmen tell the story even
yet-how young Michael Bryan, as
straight and manly fellow as ever
left his green old, native island Tor the
better chances OF the new world this
side OF the sea, came wIistling out of
the ronndhonse that morning and
stepped hastily from before an incom-
ing locomotive, neither seeing nor
hearing another rushing up the paral-
leltrack His mates cried out ID him
too latei Nobody who saw It would
ever forget the look Of agony which
distorted his handsome face in that
one horrible instant when he recog-
nized his doom, OF the perpendicular
leap into the air, from which he fell
back beneath the crunching wheels.
In the excitement and CONSERVATION
Of the time no messenger had been
sent in advance to prepare the poor
young wife for her trouble, and she
stood in the doorway with her baby
growing in her arms, when the stout
bearers paused at her gate with their
maugled burden. She uttered d terri
BILE cry and fell fainting-the child's
lender back striking the sharp edge of
the door stone.
what pity that it was not killed
outright, = said everybody but the
mother. She herself always insisted
that only her constant Watching over
the little Pickering life kept her from
gong mad in the first dreadful months
of her bereavement.
Wnen Joe was seven years old his
mother sent him TO school. He went
patiently day after day, making no
complaint, but She awoke suddenly one
night to find him sobbing on the pill
low beside her. Only by dint of long
coaxing was she able TO find out the
cause Of his grief. Some OF the rougheri
boys more thonghtless than cruel, let
as hope had called him Humpy, and
asked if he carried bag Of meal on
his back.
Mary famed with the fierce anger of
motherhood.
"You shan't so another day" she de
clared. THE rufiansi won't have
my darlin' put upon by the likes OF
themi''
So Joe's schooling had come to an
nntimely end. Yet, meager as was his
stock of book learning, the develop
ment of his mind far outstripped the
growth of his stunted and deformed
body. Every body liked the patient
little fellow tuggsng manfully at his
mothers heavy water buckets and
running willingly to every call of the.
station men. At twelve years old he
had picked up no small amount Of In
formation, especially on railroad top
les. He knew. every locomotive on the
road, understood the intricacies Of the
side tracks and switches and could
tell the precise moment when any par
ticular train might be expected with
the accuracy OF a time table.
Yet the very quickness and ardor Of
his nature deepenedhis sense of his in
trinity. The glances cast upon him by
stranger eyes, some pitifnl, some GU
rious, others, alas! expressive only Of
annoyance and disgust, ranlsled like SO
many arrows in his heart; not one
missed Its mark How wistfully his
eyes followed boys of his own age
straight, handsome, happy who sprang
lightly up and down the steps of the
coaches, or threaded their way along
the crowded platforms. For one day
Of such a perfect, untrammeled life he
would have bartered all the possible
years before him. Yet he never put
his yearnings into words, even TO his
mother.
Crooked Joe'sa rum 'un, /" said one OF
his rough acquaintances. "He senses
his trouble well enough, but he don't
let on to nobody"
Mr.. Crump, the telegraph operator,
was Joe's constant friend 1t was he
who, at odd moments, had taught the
boy to read and had initiated him
into some of the mysteries Of the
clicking instrument, which TO Joe's
Imaginative mind seemed some strange
creature with hidden life of its own.
1t was growing toward dark one No
yember afternoon. Joe-never an un-
welcome visitor-sat curled in q corner
Of Mr.. crump,s office waiting for his
mother to finish her work. He was la
boriously spelling out by the faded
light the words upon page OF an illus
trated newspaper, quite oblivious OF
the ticking. like that Of a very jerky
and rheumatic clock, which sounded In
the room.
Mr.. crump, too, had paper before