The Dupuyer acantha. [volume] (Dupuyer, Mont.) 1894-1904, 1896-10-31
His little lass.


Down ON the Seventh street pave
ment, in the old quarter of Washing
ton, old Samuel, in his shabby shop
suit and tilted-back chair, was n second
hand clothes dealer High up in the
sixth story, he was the father of a lit
tie lass whom he loved better than he
loved the silver coin the old clothes
daily brought him. TOr her sake he
drove hard bargains and bearded away
his coin. Fol her sake he built a thick
partition wall in that high sixth story
and shut away from his motherlcss
child all the sights and sounds of Sew
enth street. He made IA home room
for her up there and crowded 1t with
luxury. But ever in the midst of all
this beauty STOOD . lacedraped bed,
watched and guarded by a low-voiced
nurse, and ON it lay the small, slight
form and lovely face of SamueIs little
lass.
A fall in early infancy had injured
her in such a way that she had never
walked. A famous physician said h
could be cured if her father would con
sent to IA long separation and some
terribly critical surgery. Old Samuc $
dread was greater than his hope, ana
his child was very dear to him. he
had not consented. He had kept his
lass in that high sixth story and,
through his tender care, life's best Ii
faireSt things had come to her.
Through the whole long day she did
not see her father: but when in the
evening stiffness she heard the clear
slow strokes of a q O'Clock bell she
knew one half hour more would bring
him to her. And when he anne clothed
in fair linen and finest cloth, all hard,
harsh left downstairs and
only gentle looks and loving words for
her, she never dreamed they lived in
one of the fuulest. tiithieSt quarters OF
Washington nor that her father. who
looked like her pictures of the
patriarchs, was q second-rate, second
hand clothes dealer.
She believed his business called him
each day far down in the great. rich
capital. She thought of him as one OF
those wealthy persons she read about,
whose gold had given aid to govern
ments, to kings, to princes, to presl-
dents. She was very proud, and all
Der ~imaginings were of noble and lofty
things. She had never guessed of the
dingy shop, the shabby slop-suit, the
dirty pavement and the pawnbrokings.
..
The DAYS went on. and each n add
ed coin to Samuel's hoard and conn
forts and Injuries manifold to the life
of his little lass. Until. suddenly, I'M
eXpectedly, there came Il terrible
change. A fire broke out in the
crowded block where the dingy tene-
ments stood so close together. No
body knows just when or where it
started. 1t was a monday c%ontiagra-
ton and fierce flames of forked yellow
light were mingled with the glare of
August sunshine. The throb of engines
and the shouts of fiji emen sounded ont
over walls of women made homeless
and im%precations of men mad with
pain.
When the fire broke out old Samuel
was away. That morning he had
locked his shop and had gone to attend
an auction sale, where the contents of
a wardrobe as we'll as household eff
fects were to be disposed of. He re-
turned soon after midday to find his
block ablaZe. The door of his shop
had been broken down. Firemen and
floods of water were pouring in; smoke
and flames We're rushing out.
With desperate bounds the old man
fought his way through the wild crowd.
He staggered up steep flights of stairs
until. Stitied, burned and nearly blind.
ed, he reached the high sixth story.
To Adah, lying on her l~ace-draped bed
| rI,,t 1-n Nv tlNn 40 ~ N II iNt1ilt M I.
tition from the sounds of Seventh
street-to Adah, talking quietly to hel
low-vOiced nurse. there stumbled in /
wild-eyed, smoke-grimed, hatless. coat
less man, who grasped her almos'
fiercely in his arms and, signing to thu
nurse to follow, began a perilous de
scent of stairways, whose dark CORR
doris were lighted up by flames.
The fire was feasting on the rottel
woodwork; its blaze was making mer
~ over the f~oulness found in brick
and mortar. 1t was the strength o
despair that nerved old Samuel, as h
fought with binding smoke and glar
for the life of his little lass. Dow
swaying StairwayS, owe falling floors
until at last he stood within the littl
shop where for years he had bough
and sold old, faded garments an
boarded away silver coin. Only yes
terday he had carried Il heavy bag c
silver to the bank and had brougl
back Il heavy roll of bills. The bill
were under the counter now, locke
away, with many other rolls in a stor
square wooden box. That box wa
Samuel's only bank, he himself h
only trusted barker. The hoard b.
meath the counter represented all h
earnings and his savings since IL
year his wife died. Should he leaN
his hoard for the flames to devoul
Should he let fate cheat hin. out of h
future? There had been Il dream
his old heart of a day when he and h
child should sail away to the fair lar
of the Orient-where among a poop
of her mothers gentle race and ma,
ners, his Adah should live out her Ii
and he begin to live his own mo
nobly. Should that golden dream
happiness end in Il reality of absolu
pennilessneSS?
He measured with quick chances II
distance to the doorway. There W;
time to leap the counter, to seize Il
box; to gain the outer air. Except Fl
the precious burden lying helpless
his arms! Except for his Adah, WI
: had uttered neither cry nor question:
since he staggered to her lace-drap,
= bed and tore her roughly from it, ii
. arms were full of his little lass-tht
could hold no other treasure. Yet
was for her! for her! He would sa'
both his child and his currency!