The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1893-06-04
TYPEWRITER LETTERS.


,et drcading all the while the coming of
the time when 10 would gain the mastery
and throttle him-when such man is
Tod that ne is rich, il might be imagined
he would receive the announcement with
rHarity When Richard Dcnham real
i.d that he was wealthy hc became
even more sobered than usual, and drew
long breath as if he had been running
race and had won it, Tho man who had
brought him the news had no idea he had
roii Dcnham anything novel He merely
happened to say: you are rich man
Nl. Denham. and viii never miss it"
Denham had never before been called a
rlrh 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 gracefully, leaving the
merchant with something to ponder over.
He was as surprised with the SuddCuness
of he thing as if some one had left him a
legacy. Yet the money was all Of his
own accommodating, but his struggle had
been so long, and he had been so hopeless
about it, that from mere habit he ex-
erted all his energies long after the enemy
was overcOme-iust as the troops of New
Orleans fought a fierce battle, not know
ing the war was over.
He had sprung from such a hopelessly
heritanCe from generation to genera ton.
Il was the invariable legacy that father
had left to son in the Denham family All
had accepted their lot with accomplishing
resignation, until Richard resolved he
would at least have a fight for it. And
now the fight has been won. Denham sat
IN his office staring at the dingV wall
paper so long that Rogers. the chief clerk,
put his head in and said in deferential
voice:
Anything more tonight, MIR. Denham?"
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
Rogers was astonished, but too well
trained to show it.
Anything more tonight, Mr. Den
ham,"
All, quite so. No, Rogers, thank you,
nothing mOre.n
Good night, Mr.. Denham."
"Eh5 o, 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 residence and realized that he
might have a fine residence if he wanted
il.
He saw handsome carriages; he, too,
ton these thoughts produced was brief.
OF what use would a fine house or an ele-
CANT carriage be to him2 He knew no
one to invite to the house or to ride with
him in the carriage. He began to realize
how utterly alone in the world he was.
He had no friends no acquaintance even.
The running dog, with its nose to the
ground, sees nothing of the surrounding
scenery. He knew men in a business way,
of course, and doubtless each of them had
a home in the suburbs somewhere, but he
could not take a business man by the
shoulders and say to him: ''Invita me to
your house; l am lonely; l want to know
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 1.-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 had done so, as if the gray like wet
paint. had come off. He thought of a girl
he knew once, who perhaps would have
married him if he had asked her, as he
was tempted to. But that had always
been the mistake of the Denhams. They
had all married young except himself,
and 50 sunk deeper into the mire of pow
erty, pressed down by rapidly increas-
ing progeny
The girl had married d baker, he re-
membered. Yes, that was a long time
ago. The clerk was not far wrong when
he called him an old man. Suddenly an
O5her girl arose before his mental vision
modern girl-very different, indeed, to
the one who married the baker. She
was the only woman in the world with
whom he was on speaking terms, and he
knew her merely because her light and
nimble fingers played the business sonata
Of one note on his office typewriter.
Miss Gale was pretty, OF coUrse-all
typewriter girls are-and it was generally
understood in the Office that she belonged
TO a good family who had come down in
the world Her somewhat Independent
air deepened this conviction and kept the
clerks at a distance. She was Il sensible
girl, who realized that the typewriter
paid better than the piano, and accord
ingly turned the expertness of her white
fingers to the former instrument.
Richard Denham sat down upon a park
bench. why not2" ne asked himself
There was no reason against it except
that he felt ne had not the courage.
Nevertheless, he formed a desperate reso-
luton
Next day business went on as usual.
Letters were answered. and the time ar
rived when Miss Gale came in to see if nc
had any further commands that day. Den
ham hesitated. He felt vaguely that
business ol1ice was not the proper place
1or proposal yet he knew he would be
az disadvantage anywhere else. In the
1rst place he had no plausible excuse for
calling upon the young woman at home,
and i'll the second place he knew if he
once got there he would be stricken
dumb. 1t must either be at his office or
nowhere
Sit down moment, Miss Gale he
said at last. Il want to consult you
about Z matter-about a business mat
ter"
Miss Gale seated herself and automat
leally placed on her knee the shorthand
writing pad ready 10 take down MS in
s'fuctions. She looked up at him expect
dntly Denham, in an embarrassed man
ner, ran his fingers through his hair
Il am thinking" he began, ''Of taking
partner. The business is very prosper
Gus now, In fact, it has been SO tor some
fjrlp