The Hocking sentinel. [volume] (Logan, Ohio) 1871-1906, 1896-10-01

paper before the window for shade
not that he minded the sun himself
though the water splashed down IL
great salt drops from his forehead, bu
to shade the woman and child who sa
near him. She had opened her calico
dress about her sallow, stringy throat
and her skin glistened with the heat
In her lap lay the baby, very thin and
limp. A slit of white under the droop
ing lids, and its eyes were stained and
sunken. From time to time it moved
restlessly; then the mother would start
from her browsing and brush the flies
away.
30, papa" she said at last, ''the
baby's awful sick, an it's gettin' hot.
ter an hotter every minute"
Never mind, wife," replied big
Nichol, bravely, 'He amt half so sick
as he looks; it's just because you're
tired out watchin' him that you think
so. Why, he laughed just as natural
then when held out my awl at himr'
The woman smiled pitifully. "May-
be, papa, maybe"
The shadow Of the newspaper slid
slowly across the room. Out on the
street the hot air waved like colorless
flames. There were trees before Nichol
Helms house, but the caterpillars had
tied up the shade in snarls of web and
gnawed leaf. Presently the woman
| spoke again.
We've had ten, an every one was
| prettier and knowinger than the last.
This one was awful forward; only 4
week back he drew hisself up in chair
an stood steady for the longest, an he
knowed you, papa, just as wellr'
Nichol leaned toward the sick child
Hes fallen off terrible rapid. He
used to be the fattest of ALL He took
one of its tiny yellow hands in his own
| hairy fist. Look at yer daddy, little
feller," he chirruped; but the child did
not notice him.
The sun had set, and the west glowed
red hot behind the black roofs. Nichol
Helm sat on the long bridge that swung
its steel cobweb over the river. Below
him the boats steamed up and down,
their lights wrinkling on the surface of
the water. But big Nichol did not no.
tice them because of the child lying in
his arms. A cool breeze fiuttered I'D.
The little one opened its eyes and
smiled at its father. Daddy" it
cooed, then it nestled its head under
the cobbler's arm and slept.
Nichol was very tired. His eyes
stung with sleep, and his arm grew
numb. Yet he sat there that the sick
child might catch some stray breeze, de-
MED to the suffocating city.
poor little kid" he whispered.
He'd have died in that hole of bed
room tonight"
The sky above the city grew dark.
and across it opened vague fan of re-
fiected light. The river, too, turned
black and oily. and the lights no longer
quivered in it, but lay motionless along
the banks, straight fringe, glossy as
threads of colored silk. Still the man
sat there with the baby breathing
peacefully in his arms.
After his work was done big Nichol
drew chair out of doors and sat down
to read his paper. At this time of day
the street was a common living room. |
Hundreds of children swarmed and |
spra wled on the hot pavement, while |
the woman sat on the steps, tanning |
themselves with their aprons and gos-
siping languidly. Now and then a Duff |
OF coolness drifted up from the river
with an audible murmur of thankful
ness in its wake.
Mrs. Helm came out of the house and
stood beside her husband.
rs your hand much sore to-night?"
she inquired anXiously, as she caught
a frown of pain on the mans face.
A day or so before Nichol had driven
an awl through the thumb of his right
hand, and now it was tied up in a wad
Of rag, rather dirty and blood-stained.
at hurts worse tonight than it ever
done. 1t jumps like devil was pound
ing away under it," Nichol Helm an
swered, gloomily; for his thumb was
necessary to his trade and his trade was
necessary to his own and ten other
lives.
"To-omorrow you mus go to the doc,
tor, papa"
go to the doctorw snarled Nichol,
savagely, when / amt even put by
cent for coal, an winter comm nearer
every day."
1T amt here yet" laughed the wo-
man, looking up to where the moon
hung in the hot twilight, while as
bubble of milk. IAN you mus go the
first thing tomorrow"
''I'll see myself dead firstr' growled
the man; but he went-and she went
with him.
The doctor looked at the poor hand,
Ill puffed al crimson.
THE thumb will have to come off, '
It's just like you people to wait until '
t's too late, then come here and expect l
ne to cure you! You will be lucky il !
Jou don't lose your arm '
Nichol Helm staggered back with a i
gasp. The sorrows of the poor come l
,aldly, with nothing TO soften their an S
for between them and the '
acts of life there is no buffet of gold l
md silver to turn the cruelest truth to S
mercy. +
In a moment his wife was at his side. f
ct him touch your II
Send the woman out" said the doc s
or.
The cobbler sank into chair, his big Il
,ody limp as n baby's. v
But, doctor-my trade-I'll starve," 4
swell, if you would rather die
'IOu shan't die! You shant starve!
II help your broke in the wife, throw
ng her arms about her husband and V
rawing his head down on her breast b
Poor papar' she whispered, stroking q
lis hair with her knotted, freckled t,
ands. It'll be all right" a
An hour later they sat together in the c,
Id horse car. His arm was in sling. il
nd club-shaped bandage took the u
lace Of his right hand. 1t was re- 4