The Bennington banner. [volume] (Bennington, Vt.) 1858-1894, 1893-02-24
uNITED an YuLrTInE.

major; ''mistletoe be bl.owed!"
! He gaZed sententinusly at his boots as
he spoke, and then. with a more molli.
| fed information, remarked, "They leak
Sid, my boy; they leak-leAk like sleeves,
| Sir; but no matter"
Then he wiggled protruding toe the
better to emphasize his statement, and
at every wiggle the obedient sole leather
| fluttered away from the upper and
Tapped in softened resonance with the
sound of muffled castanet.
'If you only knew them you'd come ~
! persisted the younger man. why, ma
jor, it's Christmas, you know, and-and
well, they know you're friend of
mine, and they're not so stuck up as you
say, and if you'd only come just think of
the fun you'd have. 1t would be just
like the old times over again. You'd
fancy yourself boy. Pretty girls, you
know; jolliest sort of dinner; old fash
Toned as you please"
Major hackling was forty, and he
looked sfty-twO. Where he came frem
or why he came nobody seemed to know
or wanted to know. His nose was long
and pointed, his bristly mustache was
gray, and his hair was thin about the
temples. There were deep lines from his
ncstrils down to his chin, and around
his eyes were networks of queer little
crows feet wrinkles. Still, he had not
a hard sort of a face, for though there
were lines between his eyebrows and on
his forehead the eyes themselves were
soft and dreamy and gray as if they were
always looking for something beyond the
heavens. And if the truth be told those
gray eyes were the index to the majors
character. lie was a dreamer-a disa-
pointed dreamer. And disappointed
dreamers, when they reach certain age,
begin to get tired of waiting for the
dream that never comes true. Hence
the lines about the eyes and nostrils.
Cyril ThompsOn-they always called
him Sid-liked the major because he was
his own antithesis. He was only twenty
five, but dreaming was not one of his
vices. Sometimes, of course, as boys
will do, he would paint himself pretty
fancies of happy things in the future.
But those fancies were homely little
genre sketches so to speak, when COM
pared to the golden canvases of the ma
jor's more trained and vivid Imagination.
He placed his ideal in an accessible
spot near by; the majors never came
nearer the haunts of linen han the loft
lCI pCaho VI IlO
The friendship of the pair was pure
ease eff met by accident. While doing
the town one evening Thompson had
recklessly entered one of those restau
rants where Diner la table ThOte;
Uin cOmpriS; cinqudnte sous" is the main
and sole att actiOn. Many times had he
heard of the poetic Bohemia which con-
gregated itself in such places, and he
pinned to see it at home.
At the same table with him sat an ell
derby man, with a long nose and erizzled
gray mustache. He knew how to use his
napkin, and never let his knife subserVe
the proper ends of a fork.
II beg your pardon, SIR" said he,
with the bow of a Chesterfield, "but can
you oblige me with nickel for: these
pennies? l like to tip Dominic, you see,
sir" he continued, "but pennies you
know, sir, penniesr' and he shook his
head in gesture of ineffable contempt.
His manner was mildly paternal. lie
even seemed to be comforting kindness
in joining his new friend in couple of
glasses of curacao. But still he was
charming, original and mild. His de-
meanOr invited confidence, and he gradu-
ally drew from Thompson his entire
genealogical tree. He took fifteen min
utes to learn that Thompson here sold
coffee IN the -Ehnloaalo rleu. sPhT7o
minutes later he was aware that Thomp-
sen mere had departed this vale of tears
when Cyril was still an infant. From
that it was but step 10 infer that the
youth was an only child, and long before
they parted the major knew all about a
little darling with blue, blue eyes and
gilt edged cuTls, whO was altogether the
sweetest girl in this whole wide world,
the l0veliest and the best.
Sop said the major as Cyril told him.
II knew that long ago, my boy. I've Of
ten felt that way myself"
And as they walked home together,
the yOungster going mile or so out of
his way to accompany his new acquaint-
ance, they exchanged further condolences
at a rate that was entirely in the old
mans favor. AS they neared the corner
of a street where cheaper lodgings
abound the major stopped to say good-bv.
"But you haven't told me what you are,
major. Where is q fellow to find you?"
asked Thompson.
II live down here, my boy-top floor,
236. What am 1. you say? Nothing, my
boy, nothing Only q dreamer-just a
dreamer-a dreamer of dreams disap-
pointed dreamer. Good night, my boy,
good night"
He disappeared in the shadows. He
was gone.
But somehow the lad got interested.
Professional dreamers of dreams were
new things to him, and the next day he
again hunted up the major. He found
that the old gentleman was the fortunate
possessor of $3.50 year.
Just ten dollars a month for rent, my
boy, one dollar day for victuals, fifteen
dollars a year over for minor extrava-
gances; but the clothes, my boy; d-R
the clothes! They must depend upon
lUckl"
Inc spring had gone by and the sum
mer, and the strange friendship had
grown stronger. Then the fall came, and
Cyril did not see the major quite so often,
and when he did so it was to talk of
nothing but little girl with shining gold
curls and blue. blue eyes.
And on those occasions, after the boy
had said good night, the major would sit
up for hours on his bed, and with his
head in his hands mediate half through
the night. Then Ne would lower the gas
and crawl in between the sheets.
What does it all matter now2" he
would sigh to himself; what does it all
matter now? They are all lost, all
buried-all, even the dreamsl"
And the panorama of a dead decade
would sweep past his eyes ere ever they
closed in restless slumber. The sunny
plantation in the south, the girl that