Rock Island Argus. (Rock Island, Ill.) 1893-1920, 1897-05-11
A YOUTHS ADVENTURES.
Which, Whether Truth or Fiction, Are De
cidedly Interesting.

which, Whether Truth or Fiction, Are De-
cidedly Interesting.
When riding in the tram car through
the widest parts of Peckham Rye,
writes a contributor to the London
News, with q friend-we were bound
on a journalistic errand-a bronzed
young man of marine appearance jump
ell into the car and at once recognized
my companion. Before we had gone
very far l was deep in one of the oldest
family histories. This new arrival, it
seems, when a boy Of IA. had been pos
sessed by the fear Of consumption, that
fell disease having carried off his brother
and threatening his father and mother.
Accordingly he read every book that he
could lay his hands ON dealing with the
subject, and, as the result Of his read
ing, ran away to Bournemouth to be
near the pines Having no funds, he
engaged himself to local fishmonger,
carrying b. masters fish to the Arious
customers. When the days work was
done, he shouldered hammock which
he had brought with him and camped
among some Of those pines for which
that southern health resort is famous.
One night u gentleman, sauntering
along, smoking cigar, noticed him,
and, being amazed at this "al fresco"
bed, entered into conversation with
him. why, I know who you are" ex-
claimed the consumptive youth at last.
you're Mr.. Louis Stevenson, the man
who wrote Treasure Island. How
do you know:'' said the gentleman.
Because deliver you fish. You live
at Skerryvore. $50 I do,' replied
Stevenson, for he it was sure enough.
but you don't talk like fishmonger's
boy" mo more do, )" replied the boy,
and he then poured his strange secret
into the novelist's ear, which was SYM
pathetic enough, you may be sure.
The result Of this odd meeting was an
| invitation to breakfast. ''Oh, and l did
eat" said the young man. He told the
story so loudly that the whole train
laughed. ''And the servants couldn' Il
make it out at all to see the distin-
guished author entertaining poor me.
Then he went to Paris, and I never
saw him again for a long while" The
pines not proving strong enough, the
strange youth was seized with yearn
ing for the scent of the eucalyptus and
! persuaded his friends to send him to
sea. When he reached Sydney, he sold
his outfit and ran away into the bush
and lived in the open with eucalyptus
galore. Thence, after many adventures,
he sailed for the south seas and abode
by reef and palm for many a long year.
One day when cruising as supercarge
among the Gilbert islands, think, q
European swell in beautiful white
duck, a great red sash and spreading
panama hat, with a peacock's feather il
it, came aboard the schooner. "Goo6
morning, Mr.. Stevenson" said the su
percargo. Mr.. Stevenson looked ani
wondered who knew him in these farof
seas. II don't know you" be said
shaking his head. but I know you
Don't you remember this fishmongsr'l
boy who ate such a big breakfast a,
Skerryvore!" $50 I do. Well, the worli
is small indeed" And no doubt thu
two had pegs and tiffin-or whatever
they call such things in the islands-to
gether. What strange, small world i
is indeed! Well, one succumbed to thu
dread disease; the other is as hearty ,
fellow as ever saw. It was a quaint
grim fancy to go lodging phthisis al
over the world!-London News.