The daily morning journal and courier., 1894-11-03
-what became of herr"

Do you know that7"
 Does l know I'm lookin' at youy"
 But how do you know that she died7"
 Docs know ave this ere rose-red deo'rashun on my breastie7 Does know ave this 'ere yalier an blue decrashun on my tother breastief Does know were an low got 'em? Does I know wen I left service on . bob Ca shilling) day pension. I marched more miles OCT Lunnon streets a searchin' of 'er than I never trod in Turkey or tn crimea? Does I know that nothin' on yearth'd made me give hup tn searchin' an tn pen- sion. an lay my bones In that theer Twin greave. 'cept I was cock sure she was dead an gone!-gettin' nothin' but a penny a day, fur ale an 'baccy mon- ey. bunk no bigger than poor Mikes box t sleep on. an arf a loaf, ounce O butter. Thames skimmin's fur soup. an bowl of yarb tea, all fur 'ealthy man t thrive on?-ughw he concluded with fierce shrug of resentment at his environment and contempt for my own ignorance of what had 50 long ago proven bitter finality to this old. old veteran who was Bnorting and fum- ing before me.
 There was an easy way to dispel this outburst of feeling. and when 1t had been utilized I led him back over the sunnier road of his fondness for his dead comrade, to glimpse of his daily life in Ward 10, Chelsea Hospital
 I thus discovered the curious facts that Mike had some sixty years before been a rival for the dead wife's hand; that Uncle Billy had won after a fierce courtship; that the singular human drama of so many years before had drawn the two men together afield; had yielded them in closer friendship when the bitter days of the pensioners life had come; and that here they had at last battled along together. now in almost irreconcilable quarrels. again In firmer and more pathetic friendship, until Comrade Mike, in his failing, im- becile hours, had taken to little pecula- tons upon his friends scant larder, which had brought about an undying hatred between the two, terminating at last in the pitifM scene had wit messed in Chelsea Hospital yard.
 I sat beside the old fellow for more than half of that day. I listened to his brave tales of valorous deeds; his objurgations upon the life at Chelsea, an endless repetition of meanness and cunning, petty injustice and burning discontent; his stealthy condolences of other pensioners weaknesses. bravado and cowardice and his own wondrous days and ways; and, more pitiful than all, his overcoming querulousness, childishness and helplessness, now since his last comrade on earth was gone.
 As sat and listened built my story over and over: Of the two old pen sioners, rivals in youth, comrades in arms, still comrades in the touching quest for the woman they both had loved, comrades in the wilder, fiercer battles of their last companionship, with the final deadly hurt which drove them apart until the lips of one were forever still, and then the old man groveling upon his knees beside the coffin and the pail, just before the sad dening cortege moved away, as its climax of hopeless pathos and grief; until 1t all moved within me from be- ginning to end with tumultuous, impet- uous tread.
 Then pressed upon the old fellow some coin for comforting tobacco and ale, saw him back to the pleasant hos pital grounds, and, bidding him a hearty goodbye, started to turn away.
 Holding his rough old hand for a moment. I was thrilled with sudden convincing thought. It took expression in my parting words as looked in his doleful face.
 Uncle Billy, believe something will happen to relieve your loneliness up there in Ward 10, since Mike has gone away"
 "Only one thing could 'appen now, sir" he replied with startling groan. I knew what he meant; but that was not my thought.
 "No, no; it will not be that, Uncle Billy. It is something better, brighter than that. You have not shown me yet your wife is dead. I believe-I know-she will yet be found to take Mikes place through many sunny days!'' @.
 The old man wrung his hand fiercely out of mine. He staggered back against the stone pillar of the gateway, and would have fallen had not the pen sioner sentry come to his support.
 My last glimpse of him, as I turned and almost fled, was a picture that will never leave my heart. The old pensioners face had turned from bronze to deathly white, and felt that unutterable maledictions were struggling from his lips for the false hopes I had so cruelty raised within him. But in some wild, needless unac- countable way, I had a stubborn be- lief in what I had felt and said. It possessed me over and above every impulse towards my own remorseless task.
 "That woman Is alive here in London. I shall be instrumental in bringing these two strife beaten old souls to- gether!'' came flashing and whirling in upon me again and again as hast ened back to the city and my work. I did not reason this out. could not. It followed me even when stole into the National gallery and, for added Inspiration in my story-making. stood before Herkomer's great painting of