The Topeka state journal. [volume] (Topeka, Kansas) 1892-1980, 1895-12-13
HIS RECLAMATION.

he would either go to the dogs and die an
outcast from society, or else would worry
along in obscurity for year or so and then
quit this life with broken heart Instead
Of doing either one of these things Dick
took the one small talent he possessed and
put it to it's most practical use; he taught
music.
(Which is rough enough, heaven knows, -
as his one time friend, Jack Gilligan, re-
marked one day, con Dick, but think
what it must be on the neighborsl'
Dicks music teaching was not sue
cess. He did not make good living at it,
and he soon grew weary to death of trying
to hammer the science of notes and bars
into unmusical heads, ar d finally he stop
ped giving lessons and left the city. Most
people thought this was because Dick was
not satisfied to retreneh gracefully and
come down in the social scale; truth
was he was IN love with a girl whom he
would never dare ask to marry him now
that he was poor.
AS has been tritely remarked before,
poverty is no disgrace, but it is decidedly
uncomfortable for the party most interest
ed, and though Dick tried to tell himself
that his failure in a financial way was
nothing, a mere trifie, his heart misgave
him. and he spent more than one unhappy
evening cursing the fate that had SO ruth
lessly turned her back on him. At first
the surprise and Excitement had deadened
the pain of the real heart agony of losing
the girl of his choice, but by and by,
when he had settled down to cheap lunch
es and cheaper boarding house accommo-
dations at night, the old longings came
back upon him too strongly to be resisted.
So, after making a fool of himself one
night in walking by her house and throw
ing kisses to the curtained windows, but
not daring to go in, Dick went away and
no one took the trouble to ask where he
had disappeared. The public memory is
ofttimes short when the private purse is
likewise.
She was beautiful girl, and a truly
good one, was that girl he loved, but wor-
Shipping her at distance, as he had secret
ly done for two years past, he had not
sounded her heart at all, and he took for
granted many things he should not. He
felt that she must care nothing for him
now because he could not give her position
and fat allowance, for he Judged her by
her friends. But many girl has suffered
in this manner.
A year passed and poor Dick had seen
much Of the world. He had observed its
seamy side, not at a respectful distance,
but at uncomfortably close quarters, and
though the experience had aged him it
had also softened him. In the Dick How
ell of today one would hardly have realized
the dashing, slashing, careless Dick of by
gone days, and Dick hardly knew himself,
to tell the truth. From teaching he had
gone to playing for concerts and then for
dances, and now-now, God help himi-
he was pounding out songs for dance hall
singers, while the smoke choked him and
the lights dinmed his eyes, and the coarse
jests and odor of stale beer made him sick.
Yet there was no choice for him; it was
this or starve, and though Dick was a gem
tlemen, he did not care to die like one if
dying of starvation embodied that idea of
blue bloods demise.
One night as he was crashing away on
the accompaniment of the --latest New
York success" as rendered by painted,
powdered young woman with shrill,
cracked voice, Dick began to think of a
certain evening in the dim past when he
had sat near a true girl-a real, womanly,
sweet girl-as different from this haggard
being near him as night is from day. He
had had the words on his lips to speak to
her then, to tell her of his love and ask
her to share his life; but some little inter
ruption had deferred him, and now Dick
Howell was an outcast at last, not worthy
to touch the hem Of her dainty skirts.
Shabby and thin, wearing the air of Gull
tured man with none of the corresponding
signs in clothes and appearances, he felt
his star had risen and set with a rapidity
that seemed to him hardly fair. At the
very threshold of what might have been a
happy, useful life, it was more than cruel
to have the whole swept away at one fell
sWoop. But gone it was, and gone forever.
It would not bring it back to think or re-
greet; SO back to the accompaniment and 8
truce to all the past!
Suddenly, as his thoughts took this
turn, a girl stood beside him who was not
! the girl with the shril voice, and the mu
sic stopped. With white face Dick sprane
to his feet, hardly believing his eyes, while
the growing of the audience and the ex-
cited voices of the proprietors of the place
told that something unexpected had hap
pened.. But he did not turn to see what il
was, for before him, looking softly, quiet
! ly and happily, yes, happily, into his eyes
| stood Kathleen herself, with one dainty
/ gloved hand held out to him.
/ t'Dick,' she said softly, while the othe1
| woman shrank back instinctively; "Dick
/ you hereP'
For a moment he could not answer
! then, drawing his hand across his eyei
hastily he answered:
'tKathleenl Yes, it is I, but you?''-
The girl smiled gently.
Come, she said, taking his shabby
clad arm and leading him away, sit is al
right We are only small party. Yes,
! sAutIl1lAAS parry, II yOu VIII!
They had reached the little hallwa!
leading TO the street as she spoke, and tn
others of her party were already at the car
riage door.
''What does it mean?' asked Diel
hoarsely, stopping and shaking himself tt
see if he dreamed or not.
sit means that you have been foolish
wicked boy,'' said she softly, placing he
hand in his again, land that some tim
ago determined to find you. Do you re
member what you told me-what you
eyes told me-that last night on the stair
Well, SO did I, and Dick-I couldn't STAN
it when you went away. have enough 70
US both-and, dear, do love you. Nos
will you understand? 1 have Summed 70
the last two months, Dick" said she a
they drove quickly away, "but L thin
this is the last shall do. 1 do not like
| now that I've found the Walt I starteI