The Dickinson press., 1895-10-12
''IF.' y
- Frank n. irons.

H..
~ Frank H. Irons.
He. exercises no scruples In laying
everything upon the altar of his god.
He gathers. collects. grows rich and
great; and some day a miserable old
octogenarian, who Is 80 ignorant Of
business that he is needy part of the
time and happy all of 1t, bends his old
back Over n hole that he is filling up,
having first laid the business man ut
the bottom of it.
Mr.. Spencer was n business man
who devoted all of his waking hours
to his business. He loved his family,
Of course, provided for them and gave
them everything but his time. Later,
he was going to give them nor Of
that when lie could afford it; but in
that day there would no longer be any
such thing as time. and his precious
accumulations wouli be as absolutely
valueless to him as if they had never
had on existence.
Il am getting richer every day." lie
thought. land will soon have enough
to rest"
Richer or poorer. we do not know.
That depends upon how things shall
turn out. But in that great rest which
would come to him without his con-
sent, before he reached the date of mis-
voluntary cessation from labor-Of
what ave IL are the miserable counters
for which mankind are lying and
cheating and struggling:
Mr.. Spencer did not notice If
particularly. Size was q little
thinner than she was last year, and
was getting older, so that she was be-
coming sedate. "Morc sensible"
her father said. III she worried about
anything, he did not know 1t. How
could he measure any grief Of hers?
1t had no market value and it did not
draw interest-thut lie was sure of.
The mother:
Well there are all kinds of mothers.
The mothers may rule the world IL
they will take the trouble. Some of
them do.
Mrs. Spencer, however. was not Of
the sort made to rule anything. She
was a submissive sort of u person.
She whined a little; got up. dawdled.
and went to bed again.
She dressed, went to all kinds of
church gatherings, was secretary of
the church society, and made a moan
over the benighted heather in foreign
parts.
What time had she to get acouaint.
ed with her daughter7
Not a bad sort Of a woman; but not
a good sort.
She thought that If was taking
things sensibly and quietly.
Quietly enough, yes; there was moth
Ing to ant Or rave about. Why not
take things quietly?
Quietly enough, then; she submitted
to the will of her father. But she
grew thinner and more retiring, and
she became tired easily. She had less
energy; for what did anything mat
ter?
Walking behind the car Of life, not
riding in it. Walking mechanically,
keeping step with the others march
ing with her.
Some day the car would stop. Then
she would stop and the sound Of the
weary marching would cease. There
would be quiet then, rest and calm.
She was convinced of that; and her
love for the lover absent was pure
enough and intense enough to
strengthen her belief in the coming Of
q dawn when love and joy would be
supreme.
One day there came the news--
roundabout to If, to whom, of all per-
n 1t should have come most direct
ay-that Ashleigh Ellinger had gradu.
ated with honor. He was now a full
iedged NJ. d. The gap between the
lines of these two was closing. There
would be good news
There was a flush on the girls cheek
now.
care you not feverish. liz" she was
asked.
"Feverish? oh, no. I am perfectly
well,'' she said.
Her pulse quivered a little at any
prospect of news, which might be
news from him. She wondered why
the newspapers were 10 silent about
Ashleigh's great victory. She had re-
ceived q copy of a paper which chron-
icled the event in Il h~alf-stickful of
long primer in which there were sew
eral typographical errors. 1t al q
precious piece Of paper to her, though;
and clipped out-taken like q gem
from a mass Of trash-it was added to
her collection of soiled, broken and
precious articles which she treasured.
These sacredly-kept treasures are
not marketable, either. They are to
be wept yer in silence. They are
kept away from the profane, who
would smile at them-even though
each had his own little treasury.
There came no other news, and If
grew nervous. Her mother said that
she was "absent-minded," without
compromising how literally true her
saying was, or without knowing the
spot to which the absent mind had
strayed.
She was not, at all, present. She
was waiting.
Waiting, as the criminal in the dock
waits for a verdict. Waiting for q
catastrophe or i calamity. Waiting
for the tornado TO hurl itself from tho
black cloud which you are watching
in awful stiffness.
Waiting for the gloom of night to
surround and cover with its pail,
which brings pain in it's folds.
Waiting for death and thinking of
the judgment.
1ne calaullty, OF sorrow, or pain. tS
preferable to the dread of it. Any
t..iAg il a relief from the waiting.
At last the catastrophe came. The
storm burst and the waiting was over.
An oblong piece of paper wherein a
careless girl had scrawled a few
words, licked to her over some hun.
dreds of miles of wire, precipitated
matters.
"Ellinger dying. wants to see you.
Come tonight, without fail"
This was addressed to Miss If Spen-
Ger, and signed with an address.
Care had been taken, even in rushing
q summons like this, not to exceed the
ten words, allowed for a s~ingle-rate
passage.
This is one of the precepts taught by
business. Mr.. Spencer appreciated
the wording of the message sent most
thoroughly when If showed it to him.
"a business message, anyhow" he
said.
absurd, of course. Why should
you go to him? You have nothing to
r. do With him II ia lilo tho obooi- -