The Portland daily press., 1897-01-15
The Typewriter Letter.
rc,,r,,,h. 1904 nv the Autbor.I
By ROBERT BARR.

=
TCopyright, 1895, by the AuthorI
When man has battled with power
ty all his life, fearing it as he tonight
1t, feeling for its skinny throat to throt-
tie it, and yet dreading all the while
the coming Of the time when it would
gain the mastery and throttle him
when such man is told that he is rich,
it might be imagined he would receive
the announcement with hiiarity. When
Richard Denham realized that he was
wealthy, he became even more sobered
than usual and drew long breath as if
he had been running race and had
won it. The man who brought him the
news had no idea he had told Denham
anything novel. He merely happened to
saw, "You are rich man, Mr.. Dem
ham, and will never miss it.
Denham had never before been called
a rich man, and up toAhat moment he
had not thought of himself as wealthy.
He wrote out the check asked of him,
and his visitor departed, gratefully leav-
ing the merchant with something to
ponder over. He was as surprised with
the suddenness Of the thing as if some
one had left him legacy. Yet the
money was all Of his own accumulat-
ing. but his struggle had been SO long
and he had been SO hopeless about it
that from mere habit he exerted all his
energies long after the enemy was over
come-just as the troops at New Or
leans fought fierce battle, not know
ing the war was over. He had sprung
from such hopelessly poor family.
Poverty had been their inheritance from
generation to generation. 1t was the in
variable legacy that father had left to
son in the Denham family. All had ac-
cepted their lot with accomplishing
resignation until Richard resolved he
would at least have fight for it. And
now the fight had been won. Denham
sat in his Office, staring at the dingy
wall paper, SO long that Rogers, the
chief clerk, put his head in and said in
a deferential voice:
Anything more tonight. MI. Den
ham?''
Denham STARVED as il that question, in
that tone, had not been asked him ev-
cry night for years.
whats that? What's that?'' he
cried.
Rogers was astonished, but too well
trained to show it.
Anything more tonight, Mr.. Den
ham?''
ssAh, quite SO. No, Rogers, thank
you, nothing more.
"Good night, Mr.. Denham. %
"Eh? Oh, yes. Good night, Rogers,
good night. %
When Mr.. Denham left his Office and
went out into the street, everything had
an unusual appearance to him. He
walked long, unheeding the direction.
He looked at the fine residences and
realized that he might have fine resi-
denoe if he wanted it. He saw hand
some carriages. He, too, might set up
an equipage The satisfaction these
thoughts produced was brief. Of what
use would fine house or an elegant
carriage be to him? He knew no one to
invite to the house or to ride with him
in the carriage. He began to realize
how utterly alone in the world he was.
He had no friends, no acquaintance
even. The running dog, with its nose to
the ground, sees nothing of the sur
scenery. He knew men in a
business way, of course. and doubtless
each of them had home in the suburbs
somewhere. but he could not take a
business man by the shoulders and say
to him: Invite me to your house. I
am lonely. want to know people
II he got suoh an invitation, he would
not know what to do with himself. He
was familiar with the counting room
and it's Language, but the drawing room
was an unexplored country to him,
where an unknown tongue was. spoken.
On the road to wealth he had missed
something, and ii was now too late to
go back for it. Only the day before he
had heard one of the clerks, who did
not know he was within eMshok salinae
10 him as ''the old man." Hevfelt.as
young as ever he did, but the PHRASE so
lightly spoken, made him catch his
breath
AS he was now walking through the
park and away from the busy streets he
took off his hat and ran his fingers
through bis grizzled hair, looking at his
hand when he had done so as If the
gray, like wet paint, had come of. He
thought of a girl he knew once, who
perhaps would have married him if he
had asked her, as he was tempted to do.
But that had always been the mistake
Of the Denhams. They had all married
young except himself, and so sunk deep
sr into the miro of poverty, pressed
lown by a rapidly increasing progeny.
The girl had married baker. he re-
nembered. Yes, that was long time
ago. The clerk was not far wrong when
ae called him an old man. Suddenly
another girl arose before his mental
7ision--a modern girl-very different
indeed from the one who married the
baker. She was the only woman in the
world with whom he was on speaking
erms, and he knew her merely because
Ter light and nimble fingers played the
business sonata Of one note on his Office