Freeland tribune. (Freeland, Pa.) 1888-1921, 1896-08-31
A JOURNEY FOR LOVE,

~ Ew YORK
i: !: !" !: !: i!
Ma City, that
lESA Mecca for
A American gen.
| (.MNNSU @ ius, is filed to
SSSku IN va ~ overhowing G
VAGH } <MN,, X with ambitious
Es&VEyZ men and wo.
IN nIeVSSTae7 ' men, who flock
~&SX>RSIaSsSSy I there with high
Mkl3n&1AII~, hopes and beat
AzIIANITg/SS/L ing hearts and
oZSgAS9PIhSL<Z/ who, once lost
=ShN'AHz1 in the city
zslh& &A&4an- strugglin G
mass of humanity, drift lower and
lower and finally seek occupation in
the most humble and bitter paths of
life. Such creatures of misfortune
were the tenants of small, shaky
structure in lower New York, build
ing that had so outgrown its useful
ness and decent appearance that it was
known as "The RUNS" which name
was most significant when one consid-
ers the financial condition of the old
house'S occupants.
We lived in "Ihe Ruins" Tom and
|, pegging away at our pictures and
praying for that blissful day when
fame and fortune would come, when
we could shake the dust OF "The
Ruins" from our feet and Journey
away to some delightful spot beyond
the reach of bill collectors and out of
the prosaic sound of vegetable carts
and coal wagons. 1t was this thought
OF coming wealth that kept us on our
feet, that buoyed our sinking spirits
and made US laugh when our hearts
were crushed under load of sorrow.
Were We unhappy? No, for we had
each other, and the love of man and
woman is healing balsam in times of
misfortune. 10 be sure, each grieved
to see the other in want of those little
Injuries which make life worth the
living, but had we, not each others in
spring words OF hope to cheer the
way and make the rough places less
sharp and painful? Had Tom been
alone, had | been alone, the dreary
forsakenness and the agony of unceas-
ing disappointment would have been
beyond all human endurance and -
well, who can tell what fate would
have been ours? 1t is narrowing
thought, and n foolish one, but women
are wont to dwell on "what might have
been," even ii it makes them miser.
able.
Our neighbors, the other tenants Of
"Ihe Ruins" were conditioned like
ourselves. Like US, too, they wore
shabby clothes and turnover shoes and
supplied the wants of the Inner man"
by buying articles of food at tho cor
ner grocery and cooking them over
the blaze of smoky CRATE fire or an
Ill smelling sputtering oil stove. There
were six or seven of them, our no1gh-
bors, and every week or two one would
disappear, no doubt to go into cheaper
lodgings, while a new face and an un-
familiar but equally shabby figure
would take his or her place. We saw
little of the other tenants, meeting
them only in the dusty, bleak hall
ways or on the creaking, unsteady
stairs.
Sometimes they would murmur
good morning or we would exchange
a growl of hatred for the Landlord of
the crumbling "Ruins," but more fre.
quently We pissed in silence, sinking
hurrledly along as if ashamed of our
parcels OF provisions or our three-sea-
son garments. This had been the con-
dition of our social affairs until one
gloomy April day, when there came a
tlmid knock on our door, which | an
swered with no great feeling of hap
piness, fearing an unlooked-for visit
IRON the uncongenial landlord.
My apprehensions were groundless.
1t was the little German governess
who lived in a cheerless back room on
the floor above.
81 heard your husband go away and
so took the liber- y of coming to you, :"
she stammered in broken English, as
pretty blush of embarrassment Grim
soned cheeks which were usually of q
cold and unhealthy whiteness.
81 have waited to come for such a
long, long time. 1t is very lonesome,
this New York, is it not? think one
could die and not be found for years
/ unless it was by the landlord when he
comes to collect his fees each week.
The landlord, one is only sure of him !;
he never fails, he never forgets, he
comes each Wednesday with hand held
out for the money and his wrinkled
old face is all pinched and puckered
with avarice. Ach, hate him, the
landlord.
She paused for breath. I took Toms
palette, tcovered with paint from the
one comfortable chair in the room and
begged my visitor to be seated.
"You and your husband are both
artists?" she continued. talking fast
end never waiting for replies to her
questions-"you must be happy. Yes,
you are happy, for l hear you singing
some times, and when l see you and
your husband on the street he is al
ways holding your arm as if you were
a piece of rare porcelain. You are the
only person in this dreary place
this ruin, as they call 1t-who ever
smiles. The rest-ahl they go about
like ghosts, creeping up and down, up