The true Democrat. [volume] (Bayou Sara [La.]) 1892-1928, 1897-09-04

self and sendlng announcer man there
his choice would certainly fall on the
other man.
| However, he seemed to treat Smol
lett with some cordially, and coula
see from my friends manner that he
was trying to converse with him, ane
at the same time was nervously anx
ious to secure his help.
At last the stranger went on, and
Smollett returned to me.
'That's funny, isn't it?" he began.
"He's an old school fellow of mine;
haven't seen him for fifteen years.
He's doing we'll. I told him I was
on the lookout for something, and he
thinks he can give me work to do al
home"
I congratulated him, but he ran on
without pause.
Ellis names Morehouse; he's run.
ming company or something, making
no end Of money. He's got my ad,
Dress"
"Did he give you his?" I asked.
ooh, no, it wasn't necessary, you
know"
That was just what I expected. Mr..
Nlorehouse didn't want a shabby
friend calling on him in the city.
"Won't my little wife be glad!" he
said, gleefully. 'I think 1 shall go
home at once and tellher. Good-by."
And he hustled away with his good
news.
I don't think Smollett made very
much money out of his friends work,
but it served to meet some of his most
pressing requirements, and gavehim
new hope.
One afternoon he turned up in the
Park looking pale and excited. I
asked if there was anything the mat
ter, but he was rather taciturn, and
said vaguely that ''things were look
ing up bit"
"Don't you think fellows quite
entitled to do the very best he can for
his wife and children, and all that sort
of thing?" he asked, solemnly.
"Of course he is. Who doubted
it,"
"No one" he said CURLY, and went
home, walking with rather a defiant
air.
I felt uncomfortable about him.
There was something in his manner
which suggested to me that he was
going through crisis.
A day or two later he began to look
thoroughly i'll. To put it roundly, the
man looked half starved and almost
demented with worry.
II suppose you haven't heard of
anything?"
"No," he said. Sim sick and tired
of trying. I haven't even enough
money to pay for postage stamps. Ny
boots are in holes. I can't walk into
the city. Ny wife is nearly broken
down, and the child is i'll. I wish I
couldn't swim!'
"Why?"
"I'd drown myself. Can't afford
revolver, you know"
He said this with bitter laugh, but
he didn't mean it. The little man had
no more idea Of committing suicide
than I had.
"Does Morehouse still send you
some work?"
"No," he said, quietly. IT shan't
get any more work from Morehouse."
"Oh!"
How he got through the next fort.
night I scarcely knew. He seemed
to have no friends. The weather was
getting colder, and he lacked an over
coat believe that everything which
could be spared had been disposed of
to buy food. I could do very little to
help him, being my chronic condition
Of low water.
At last he appeared one afternoon in
q state Of triumph. He had found q !
situation-only two pounds week.
but ne was as pleased as IT 1t had been
the dictatorship of a bank.
II will start to work tomorrow, "he
said cheerfully, $50 I'm afraid we won't |
have any more afternoon talks. They've
done me good"
''Did I ever tell you what More
house wanted me to do?" he said,
jerkily. -
I knew what was coming-a con:
fession.
& Perhaps you had better keep it to
yourself"
II ''No, I want to tell you. think you
are the sort of fellow who would un-
derstand." @
II happen to be very good writer. !
I can copy anybody's handwriting. |
It's sort Of gift. Sometimes at school |
I used to do other fellows exercises
for them, and no one could tell the diff
ference. Morehouse knew this, and |
he wanted me to put somebody else's |
name to bill" ~ -; !