The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1893-10-22

get up, but I love to be tired when l am
perfectly at leisure to lie down. have
/ thrown myself down here many time
when the pure sense of exhaustion, with
such comfortable spot to give way to in,
seemed to me a kind of exquisite pain.
You don't know what l mean} No, ! sup
pose not. Translated into pure English
1t simply means that / am awfully glad
to get down here just at the present mo-
ment. The peaches were heavy
As l looked at the poor, pale, refined
face, brought into such relief against the
( deep-cOlored cushions, I believed | could
see that Van Austen had failed, was fail
ing. The frank confession of weakness
carried me back toour college days, when
! Van Austen, even at the age when such
| confession is most trying, never failed to
| throw himself on any sofa that came to
| hand for even five minutes for the rest so
essential to his poor, frail body. The
| victim Of some accident in his childhood,
he was hopelessly, helplessly delicate;
never i'll, but never well; conscious that
the utmost harboring of his strength
could not keep him alive the allotted time
| Tor man. Il am a Septimus FELTON," he
! would say, with the rare smile so free
! from any bitterness, seeking not i'm
mortal but mortal life, and, like him, l
am told must not permit myself to be
very glad or very sorry, to eXult or to de-
| plore, to eat anything very nice, to fall in
| love, or to compete in races; since every
extra heart beat is so many taken from
| the few allotted me- My only safety lies
IN my fortunate Lack of pride. | am not
| ashamed of being weak or of being poor"
| For he was poor. He belonged to the
! only branch of the aristocratic Van Aus
tens that was not rolling in money, and,
| with all the aristOcratiC Van Austens'
| tastes and refinement, his resources were
| fewer than those of most men. When his
| Uncle Harry had offered to send him to
| college he had said with characteristic
! frankness:
Il shall be glad to go, Uncle Henry, if l
caa go feeling that it is pure, outright
! gift from you. l cannot go to be tortured
into studying for scholarship as a matter
of pride or to feel that l ought to do all [
| can to repay the debt after l leave col
lege. | know very well that I cannot
live If l am worried. l don't want to die.
| had rather live and not go to college
! than to go to college and die. Still, |
would like very much to go to college. If
| can accept your gift as a gift, with
! clear conscience, l will promise to live
| simply, graduate decently, if not as hon
! orably as | might by Oyerstudy, and not
| disgrace you. ! should like to go, Uncle
| Henry, with this understanding.
| And of course he went and began there
! the quiet, singular career which marked
/ mn uuIOuSu llIt5, ii CAREER W HIGH NdS Sill
| ply the perfect, unquestOning acceptance
| of inevitable fact. 1t was well understood
! that Van Austen, as the prOtege of rich
| uncle, would spend no money except for
| comfortable expenses, though he had
| fully explained to his uncle that he did
not care to be niggardly in regard to
| those. He lived simply, but we'll He
| never entertained, but he accepted I'M
! questioningly and without returning the
attentions of richer fellows without a
| qualm. If you knew he once said, as
| the nearest approach to an apology that
he ever made, chow fine it sometimes
| seems to me it must be to be able to give
anyone anything you would not wonder
| that | am so lavish in giving you better
| fellows so many opportunities in giving"
He had graduated, as he said he would,
| decently, and then had sought the light
work with ridiculously small pay which
| all his strength was equal to. Two years
| later his mother died and Van Austen
was alone in the world except for the
| hosts and hosts of friends that he had
| always made for himself everywhere.
| AS we sat there now in his little parlor,
talking of the old days and the new, his.
| doOr-bell rang.
| Excuse me for moment" he said, as
| he rose slowly. II am my own butler
| to-day. Emily sends me round hers on
| great occasions, but though am perfectly
willing to borrow him when l need him, l
| am not willing to borrow him when she
needs him. | draw the line there. So |
! am my own butler to-day"
Good evening, - heard from strange
voice as Van Austen opened the outer
door. There was a severity in the tone
| which marked the voice of one who
| hardly expected to be admitted without
difficulty, but who was determined to be
| admitted, whatever the difficulty.
G(NNnA pvnDino Will
Van Austen said with evidently I'M
expected civility.
THANK you, thank you" said the
stranger in tone of evident relief. l
called to see you about a little subscrip-
ton for the Children's Aid Society," l
know your interest in it, and -"
Excuse me, y interrupted Van Austen
with a smile which l felt through the
| thick portiere, ''but | think you mistake
me for my cousin, Richard Van Austen.
lie is, know, particularly interested in
| your society, and will no doubt befriend
it. He is in Thirty-fourth street"
And you are-ln questioned the in
terviewer, with professional anxiety not
to be thrown off the scent.
Il am, unfortunately, Robert Van Aus
ten. The two RS often confuse my iden-
! tltY with that of my cousin
''Ah excuse me; see" answered the
| discounted agent, with tone which I'M
/ consciously Implied that he had been a
liCtle surprised at the surroundings of the
| supposed wealthy Mr.. Van Austen
''Odd, isn't it, said Van Austen, as he
sauntered back into the parlor and threw
| himself again upon the cushions, that he
never tried to get out of me what he
| could2 The minute he found | was not the
millionaire, off he went in search Of the
richer man without waiting to see if |
couldn't perhaps swell his fund by
widows mite. If l had been an ordinary
poor man he would have tried to squeeze
at least dollar out of me- en- PEASANT;
but it is one of my advantages in being the
| Van Austen who is not rich to have the
subscription agents drop me as if were
an agent myself when they see Weather
! Van Austen behind me-"
DO you know Dobbs?" l asked ha p
pening to recall the name on the opposi te
doorplate.
DO l know Dobbs? OF course l do.
What is more to the point, know Mrs
Dobbs and all the eleven little Dobbses.
Mrs. Dobbs is a very clever little woman,
who sends me in bit of dinner now and
then of a rainy Sunday, when she knows
| hate to go out. l can't return in kind,
of course, as my dining-room is a farce,
| but once in awhile | hunt her up bit of
my old china, and she is delighted. She
! gives me bread and | give her stone, but
] hn