The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1895-02-27
SELECTED STORY.
Is Life Worth Living2

his WINDOW, LOOKING out at Inc dying
day. The western sky was ali aglow
with a warlike crimson, that, away
above bis head, softened into rosy
pink But the professor was not think
ing of the sunset. His fnely.mOulded
features wore an expression of weari-
ness and his intellectual blue eyes
looked out fro m under his luxuriant
brown curls with settled melancholy.
He was young in fact, just twenty
six-but his dress gave him the look of
much older man. His coat did not fit
him and his whole attire was careless
and old-fashioned.
Behind him stood his desk, from
which he had just risen, covered with
papers, pencils and with ponderous vol
umes in many languages. In his hand
he still held the last sheets of a the sis
be bad been writing when the sunlight
had deserted him. 1t was entitled "Is
Life Worth Living?" and was designed
for a popular magazine that had re-
quested something from his pen. In it
he had proved conclusively, quoting
freely from classic and German authors,
that this life of ours, taken all in all, is
decidedly not worth the living.
He felt quite satisfied with his effort.
His arguments seemed to him soundly
drawn and unanswerable. He read the
last sentence over twice with evident
approval: And love, the fairest bub-
BILE mortals chase, the soonest bursts
and turns to nothing but vain deceit"
He flattered himself that that was
rather well put, and he jotted down
some ideas in continuance of the
thought, which he would elaborate that
evening. Then he hastily donned his
overcoat, and, as il looked like rain,
grasped an umbrella unfashionably
large and went out to his dinner, which
he took at a cafe near.
He ate his dinner in solitary silence,
unheeding the laughter and jests of
irrepressible students at tables all about
him. They observed him with re-
spectful stare, for they knew that this
young professor was already famous in
the intellectual word, and they felt a
personal pride in the honorary degrees
that other people wrote after his name
although he never did.
They knew that his pamphlet on
"Phenomenality of Spirit had been
translated into fourteen different lam
guages, and had re solutionzed modern
thought on that subject
The professor sat idly drumming
with his fingers on the table, waiting
for his dessert. He felt half pity,
half contempt, for people who could
laugh foolishly in such an empty world.
Strange sentiment for a young mani
But Norman Brokaw's life had been
strange one. Early deprived of father
and mother, he had been brought up by
an uncle, man divorced from his wife.
Proud of Norman's bright intellect,
his uncle had lavished money on his
education, but the love and cherishing
that are the inherent rights of child
hood the boy had never known. After
graduating and taking a masters de-
gree at Harvard he had gone abroad
and spent two years al Germany uni
versity. His life had been destitute of
social pleasures. He had scarcely
known woman, save the old house
keeper.
His uncle, embittered by his own
sad experience, had warned him against
the whole sex as foes to mans happi-
nts So.
On his return 10 America he had
b' en- rendered a professorship in the
large university where he now was.
His uncle's death while he was abroad
had left him an dependent fortune,
aid now, at twenty-six, rich, famous
aid in perfect health, he found life
only an immense, an unnecessary affllc-
ton.
He finished his dinner and strobe
out again into the chill November
night, his fine figure and firm tread
+ flowed with admiring eyes by would
be aspirants for college athletic honors.
His abused muscles pleaded for exer-
else tonight, and he struck out into a
brisk walk down one of the quiet
streets. Clouds had been gathering
while he was at dinner, and soon big
raindrops began to fail. He hurriedly
opened his wide-spreading umbrella.
fell on bis ears.
street in the full glare of the electric
light, young lady in the prettest of
fall costumes. She had no umbrella
and the rain was beating ruthlessly
down on her large velvet hat with it's
masses of waving plumes. As she
caught sight of the professor her face
frightened, and with an impulsive
bound she stood beside him under the
umbre ella.
She raised appealingly face 80 cap
tivating in it's girlish freshness that
even the professors grave features,
shaded by The umbrella, softened into a
smile. Long lashes yelled pair of the
loveliest hazel eyes that ever lighted
up veritable rosebud face. Perhaps
the features were not quite regular
the nose had little Independent style
of its own, but the lips were very red,
and the little auburn curls just show
ing under the wide hat brim completed
tout ensemble that was bewitching.
The professor suddenly recollected
himself and stammered:
Certainly of course-I shall be
very glad"
"Thanks awfully; you're 30 kind"
returned the young lady, walking along
bt side him. 81 did hate to ruin nv
new dress and hat. / just got them
flOm home Yesterday. I'm a nniyer.