The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1893-01-18
TYPEWRITER.


all his life, fearing it as he fought it,
feeling for the skinny throat to throttle
it, and ye~ dreading all the while the
coming of the time when it would gain
the mastery and throttle him-when
such man is told that he is rich, it
might be imagined he would receive the
announcement with hilarity. When
Richard Denham realized that he was
wealthy he became even more sobered
than usual, and drew long breath as if
he had been running race and had won
it. The man who brought him the news
had no idea he had told Denham any
thing novel. He merely happened to
say, sYou are rich man, Mr.. Denham,
and will never miss it.
Denham had never before been called
q rich man, and up to that moment he
had not thought of himself as wealthy.
He wrote out the check asked of him,
and his visitor departed gratefully, leav-
ing the merchant with something to
ponder over. He was as surprised with
the suddenness of the thing as if some
one had left him legacy. Yet the
money was all his own accommodating
but his struggle had been SO long, and
he had been SO hopeless about it, that
from mere habit he exerted all his ener-
gies long after the enemy was overcome
just as the troops at New Orleans
fought fierce battle not knowing the
war was over. He had sprung from
such hopelessly poor family. Poverty
had been their inheritance from genera
ton to generation. It was the invariable
legacy that father had left to son in the
Denham family.
All had accepted their lot with uncom-
planning resignation, until Richard re-
solved he would at least have fight for
it. And now the fight has been won.
Denham sat in his Office staring at the
dingy wall paper SO long that Rogers,
the chief clerk, put his head in and said
in deferential voice:
Anything more tonight, Mr.. Den
hamg'
Denham started as if that question in
that tone had not been asked him every
night for years.
"What's that, what's that?" he cried.
Rogersrwas astonished, but too well
trained to show it.
Anything more tonight, Mr.. DEN
harn?"
ssAh, quite SO. No, Rogers, thank
you, nothing more"
"Good night, Mr.. Denham."
"Eh? Oh, yes. Good night. Rogers,
good night"
When Mr.. Denham left his Office and
went out into the street everything had
an unusual appearance to him. He
walked along, unheeding the direction.
He looked at the fine residences and real
lied that he might have fine residence
if he wanted it. He saw handsome car
riages; he, too, might set up an equipage.
The satisfaction these thoughts produced
was brief. OF what use would fine
house or an elegant carriage be to him?
He knew no one to invite to the house or
to ride with him in the carriage. He be-
gan to realize how utterly alone in the
world he was. He had no friends, no
acquaintance even. The running dog,
with it's nose to the ground, sees nothing
of the surrounding scenery. He knew
men in business way of course, and
doubtless each Of them had home in
the suburbs somewhere, but he could not
take business man by the shoulders
and say to him: ''Invite me to your
house. am lonesome; I want to know
your people"
If he got such an invitation he would
not know what to do with himself He
was familiar with the counting room
and its Language, but the drawing room
was an unexplored country to him.
where an unknown tongue was spoken.
On the road to wealth he had missed
something, and it was now too late to
go back for it,. Only the day before he
had heard one of the clerks, who did not
know he was within earshot, allude to
him as s'the old man" He felt as young
as ever he did, but the phrase SO lightly
spoken made him catch his breath.
AS he was now walking through the
park and away from the busy streets he
took off his hat and ran his fingers
through his grizzled hair, looking at his
hand when he did SO as if the gray, like
wet paint, had come of. He thought of
girl he knew once, who perhaps would
have married him if he had asked her,
as he was tempted to do. But that had
always been mistake CT the Denhans.
They had all married young except him
self and so sunk deeper into the 1nire Of
poverty, pressed down by rapidly in
creasing progeny. The girl had married
a baker, he remembered. Yes, that wa
a long time ago. The clerk was not fal
wrong when he called him an old man
Suddenly another girl arose before liie