The Topeka state journal. [volume] (Topeka, Kansas) 1892-1980, 1896-07-17
THE MAD GARRETT.


The three friends were on. the top flight
of an old house that lay in a street east Of
the Bowery. The house had been built in
colonial times, and about it was a peculiar
air of desOlateness. 1t had odd winding
staircases. In the long ago people Of cul-
ture and fashion had dEelt within it But
that was very, very long ago, for now the
street was invaded by q miserable cOsmO-
politan horde hailing from all the filth
spots of the world Fashion, Or'rather the
vulgar showing of crowd who now passed
for people Of fashion in New York, had
gone up to Fifth avenue. The fine Amer
leans of the last century were indeed no
more.
Karl pushed open the door.
Come in, he said as he entered; "ths
gas jets over here. -
Jennings approached cautiously, fol-
lowed by Finn, and applied a match.
The glare of the gas revealed a rather
large room, with a low roof that sloped
downward toward the windows In the
center Of it stood big square rough look
ing table, upon which was q jumb3ed, over
flowing heap of writing paper, papers,
written on, odds and ends, blotters and
envelopes, used and unused Growing
the head was an old clay pipe. A writing
pad, pen and ink bottle lay in small
clear space near the edge of the table. A
hard looking, narrow bed stood of in a
corner Two chairs were standing on the
top of dilapidated trunk A small oil
stove with frying pan and other cooking
utensils lay upon the washstand- Dust
was everywhere.
"Boys, make yourselves at home" said
Karl ''This is my natal spot in an intel
lectual sense Here's where wrote The
Problem. -
"That was q rather odd idea of Mrs.
Lockwood 's-never to let this room and
to let the things remain in it exactly as
you left them, - remarked Jennings who
fill
an old newspaper. He sat upon 1t strad-
dlewise, his elbows leaning upon the back.
''She was good to me, y said the writer
softly. You know, one night, two years
ago, I left this garnet suddenly to go with
Victor Speer to Boston. When had been
there few days, things all at once came
my way. AS you know, The Problem made
an instantaneous hit and a certain pub
Usher advanced me a big sum of money.
Afterward, when 1 came back to town
and called upon Mrs. Lockwood to pay her
what 1 owed her, somehow felt reluc-
tance to coming up to this room had
taken my finished manuscripts with me
when I left for Boston with Victor OF
course I had idea that Mrs Lockwood
intended to keep this room empty. I must
make it up to her, but, boys, no money
can ever repay my Indebtedness to her. -
''You used to do your own cooking, I
see, - remarked Jennings.
Yes, I used to get my groceries at the
little delicatessen shop next door. Bienau
gave me credit with the limit at "a, ard
whenever I got a microscopic check, which
was seldom, I'd pay up and start afresh. I
got the most miserable prices for my stuff.
Seven dollars and half remember get
ting for a Christmas story which took me
four days to write You know was al
ways a slow, careful workman.
''The lowest labOrer in the street was
better paid for his work than 1 was" con-
Z I-,Ts .
the things that wrote for starvation pay
will live after I'm gone. I realized all the
hardship and suffering that poor Henri
Murger endured and maybe more
81 used to wander around the town at
dead of night thinking hated the day
time, for the noise and hustle disturbed
and irritated me- And long after mid
night when tired and worn out by aim
less wandering, terrible fancies would as
sail me rs ] entered this house 1t was
only by an exercise of the sternest courage
that could prevent myself from shrieking
out as I mounted the stairs. My mind
was clear and acutely analytical, and still
strange, internal things whirled around
me. Though I couldn't actually see
them, I knew what they were like. I
could feel myself pushing my way through
them. -
'What were they 1ke9'' asked Finn,
who was standing near the table.
ooh, they were things so unspeakable
that my mind benches as recall them. 1
will not say what they were like. But for
a cold, deliberate effort of the will, would
have gone violently mad
lone night I went with Murphy to the
theater to see Zola's grewsome 'Therese
Raquin, and the great awful eyes of the
paralyzed woman in the last act haunted
me in this room for months. Oh, they
were frightful, those eyesl They stared at
me from the roof and the walls. Yes,
boys, these were some of the things that
bothered me when I lived here, and when
ever Hunger and desolation made me feel
that the game was nearly up I used to open
and read little tattered book that lay over
there on the writing table. 1t told Of the
life of Balzao.''
A softness had come into the writer's
face. 1t was a face-powerful, with blue,
piercing eyes-the face of q fighter, of one
who had endured
Reading it, he continued, "somehow
put a new heart into rae. It was brave,
mournful message from the past, as If the
ghost of grand gladiator arose and babe
me to fight to the death in the arena with
a stout heart. All, dear Balzac.''
You're a little morbid tonight, old
boy" said Jennings Anyhow, there's
something weird about this room. feel as
if something were going to happen. Per
haps at this moment the room is rejecting
one Of your moods Of madness or depres-
sion My belief is that man of powerful
individuality, such as you, Will after a
time make the atmosphere of his room
heavy with the essence of himself. You
see, you lived here almost altogether.
What do you thinkS'
''Oh, perhapsl''
did you ever see anything?"
A wan smile came into Karl's face. He
did not answer
Here's your life of Balzac, exclaimed
F,-Ir4