Martinsburg herald. [volume] (Martinsburg, W. Va.) 1881-1920, 1893-12-23


Tom took the protfered hand in its
faultless glove and gave it 9 rough grip.
Your guestY' he was thinking. You
old scamp. You don't know that nearly
every penny of your beggarly annuity
goes to buy your clothes and whisky;
that Virginia does copying and painting
when you are asleep, and wears OF >
gown month in and month out that the
bills may be paid; that my weekly pay
ment for bed and board will be more
than acceptable. You don't know it,
and-no matter what Virginia says-I
think you wouldn't care a hang if you
did. If you had your deserts, you'd have
been pitched in the river long ago"
Somehow his own failure made him
unusually bitter to Mr.. Kent's short
comings. The worlds hard knocks may
eventually teach resignation, but who
can say that while the bruise is aching
the brute within us does not snarl?
As the old man kissed Virginia on the
forehead, a pathetic paternity savoring of
the theatrical in the caress, he did not
dream how intensely Tom longed to call
him few hard names in sound Anglo
Saxon.
He stumbled little and sank into the
most comfortable chair, his murky eyes
half closing.
Tea! All, what is more grateful to
tired body than cup of tear This was
a staple remark, always delivered with
gusto by Mr.. Kent after a lengthy COM
munion with mixed drinks. The fra
GRANGE of it! The sorcery of home is ex-
hailed from a cup of tea. Butt hope,
my dear, you have something else. A
chop or bit of salad"
Virginia watched him as he looked
across the tips of his delicate fingers in
fuddled meditation and felt her face
burn. Her joyous anticipations of the
first night spent together had been de-
plorably amiss. Tom was discouraged
and silent, half angry with her and en-
ragged at the world. Her father had re
turned after one of his bad days" when
the remembrance of all he had misused
and lost stung him to drink and perhaps
to find the ghost of his old pleasures in the
hazy enchantment offered by strong liq-
nor.
All, there was hope for Tom. He
would forget this disappointment. He
would join the race again. He had still
lance to throw. But poor old dad!
Perhaps she did not half guess what
thoughts tortured him. She knew his
annuity trickled through his fingers now
in small personal extravagances just as
the thousands had gone when she was a
little child, but she could not blame him.
To dress presumably and drop in upon
old friends for a chat and glass of port,
sometimes to dine with them in the club
where once he had shone with unequaled
brilliancy or TO pay for an orchestra
chair when an old comedy was present
ed We're the surviving joys of his deca-
dence. His friends did not know in
what corner of the town he had hidden
! himself, did not remember he had a
daughter. Frequently he forgot that fact
himself. And meanwhile Virginia work
ed and saved, stealing only odd moments
for her reading and music. practieing
1 depressing economies that robbed her
cheeks of color and sometimes gave to
her deep eyes an expression of fear.
But she loved the old man. Her pity
for what she termed his misfortunes
made her tender to his faults. Not so
Tom, who had watched the pitiful little
tragedy for two years. This exhausted
spendthrift, this cold materialist with
dreamer's eyes, this autocrat with voice