New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1895-12-01

| here until YOU tell me where mamma is. She was
| always lonely when was away from her. ~, M
/ sent away this morning; II was ~
| know IT was. / won't go until you tell me-
! The Captain was about to speak. when Meas
ley. with a harsh cry. caught up SIGN , ,The
| stood in corner and rushed at the child me ~.
little fellow did not move but the Captain sprdht
forward and caught the fathers upralseh arm
/ and twisted the stick from his grasp and sent 'ne
| poet reeng backward some PAGES.
what are you doing man." he cried holly.
| fingng the stick from him. Would you peat
child like thar IT,, 81
| have told him a thousand times over not to enter
this room. | will not be disturbed at any time'
! NV work-my arts my life: ali else is insig-
nlfcant and sinks into noihngness beside II.
| discard and disregard all else. Which ne there-
upon did by hnging out his hands suddenly and
| turning his back upon the boy, and Walking "
| the other end of the room
| You discard all else-even your dead wifes
| boyo" said the Captain, slowly. And behave
| like a wild beast to him when he comes TO you
| in his loneliness and misery.
| What of that exclaimed the other, pacing
the room. II tell you. sir. that owe duty ~
| posterity--my art, my poetry
You owe a duty to her child. man. cried the
Captain angrily. your poetry! Good God. man
| have you lived with the MUSES. so long and never
| learned the, sanctity. the beauty, the poesy OF
the soul Of little child? I'm no poet-the pow
ers forbid; scarcely read line of IT in my life
but to me- you are like man catching at with
| cred leaves blown down the wind and trampllng
| Gods flowers under your feet the while
Mr. Maitland Kearsley was staggered. lie
paused in his restless walking to and fro ana
faced the soldier somewhat sullenly
Il have yet to learn that you have the right To
| teach me my duty sir" he said. What do you
| WANT"
With a sudden resolve in his heart Captain
| John Walker faced the other.
Il want YOU to let take the boy with re
| now at Cnce-for holiday. A house OF death
| is no place for him; let him go away with me,
and forget He's dear little chap-l like him
and"-this with something of an EFFORT sup
| pose he is rather troublesome 10 you AT times.
we live different lives. Kearsley; forgive my mo-
/ mentary anger Of a few moments since. Let me
take the child" Perhaps in his heart the Cap
| tain thought"He is his mothers boy; ne mas
| the eyes that will be with me till die.
1T seems extraordiaary--l-l suppose it's very
| good OF yOu-I don't quite understand but, yes
| yes-take him If YOU like by all means; should
| send him away. In any case. Take him away,
certainly" He glanced at his wiring table; ana
moved toward H. u am nusyLvery pusy.
| in upon me Yes-take him away.
The Captain had put his arm about the child.
| and had bent to him. with whispered word ana
| ne now silently drew the boy from the room
the childish eyes. like those other eyes, look
| ing up at him trustingly
With that day began a new life for captain
| John Walker-a life that had its guiding
| force the child OF his dead love. The boy and
the man We're inseparable the boy absoluteI!
| happy with one who understood and loved him;
the man warmer-hearted, more charitable be-
ing for the thought of the sunny-faced. merry
eyed boy who chung to him. The father was a
forgotten quantity. The child was taught TO
| swim. to ride to be absolutely fearless-and TO
obey the Captains own strict code of duty.
Understand, Jack the Captain had said with
a grave finger appraised. IF ever find you have
done mean or cruel action. or ever allowed any
one lick you without fighting until you couldnt
stand or ever funked anything. or ever told a
lie or ever Dragged. been anything but gen
teman, I'll send you back to your tather. That
will be the only place for you, added the captain
with unconscious irony. Your dear mother gave
YOU my name and II ever you disgrace II. by the
Lord Harry. I've done with you
The warning was scarcely needed: the boy was
| ..tl6 hat. 6aclr
| But in the course of time. Mr.. Maitland kearsley
| came to have curious feeling in regard to his
absent offspring. 1t was not love He had no
| real affection for the boy: 1t was rather an in
| definite feeling OF wounded vanity-a petulant
surprise that the boy should have no wish to re-
| turn to him.
II do not believe in affection" he mur7nured to
himself once "All-abs orbing passion. that
sweeps mans soul with it, is another thing-a
| worshipful quantity. The domestic affections are
made up Of mundane desire for creature com
| forts and sustenance. for the most part assisted
| by mistaken sense of duty. But hoped that
| the child would have been drawn by the intel
| lectual side of my character. and would have be-
| come species OF disciple to me. / am surprised
that he should cling to that terribly brusque'
| commonplace soldier"
| His thoughts found expression in a letter. sug
costing to the Captain that the boys holiday had
been sufficiently prolonged. and asking that h.
should be sent home. In his simplicity. Captain
| John Walker consulted his solicitor laying before
him the whole story. There was of course. but
one answer; the child must be given up: The
/
was an ass and strobe out OF the office But he.
nevertheless wrote a curt note. informing Mr..
Maitland Kearsley that he would bring the boy
| down a certain day; he felt that there was
nothing else to be done. So II happened that on
| the very day in question Captain John Walker
| stood In the poets house with very white face
| and with the child clingin6 t. him. while the
poet stood, watching the pair with something of
triumphant smile about the corners of his
mouth.
"In obedience to your request Kearsley 7
have brought the boy back again. | will not
say anything of my own feelings in the matter;
] have learned to love him very dearly. but that
is outside the question; YOU have of course, the
right" He stopped and kissed the bright hair
| OF the boy who chung 10 him. "Jack-go to your
father. my boy.
| The boy glanced up him for moment. and
| then. with quivering lips. walked slowly toward
Kearsley. But ne suddenly burst into passion
| of weeping. and finEing himself on the floor
| so,bed though his heart would break. The
Captain turning away, with dim eyes. when
the sound of Kearsley's voice arrested him,
| speaking in QuerulOuS tones.
You frghtful child" he was saying. get up
| from there, You know can't bear scenes of
| You're a most ungratefu little beast few
thrashings will do you all the good in the world
| They've made fool OF you. since you've been
away.
He stopped and caught the boy roughly by the
| shoulder and dragged him to his feet. Captain
John Walker wheeled round and shouted:
Let the child alone Come here, jack" Then,
| as the trembling boy ran to him.. and was en-
clrcled by his arm he spoke again. and his words
| rang out In the silence OF the room like pistol
| shots mo, Maitland kearsley. I'm damned If
| YOU do. love the child. and won't leave him
here. or anywhere else. to be the victim Of your
| bows-of your childish ill-temper ! think I'm
! more 10 him than you will ever be or ever have
| BEEN and law no law. I'll keep him-6y the
| Lord | will, Keep back man. or I'll break your
| own cowardly stick that added head OF
yours yet Come, Jack YOU and will hold to-
gether until you tire OF me-
Maitland Kearsley has decided not 10 trouble
| aho - friend. q
! kindred tastes he recently confded the fact that
| he had been bitterly disappointed in the boy. In
| fact" he added Il have abandoned all thoughts
of him. His mother was most worthy woman.
but terrible Phstine. and the boy follows in
| Ter unhallowed steps. More than that he has
shown that he has decided preference for the