The Middleburgh post. [volume] (Middleburgh, Snyder Co., Pa.) 1883-1916, 1897-08-19

saw strange drama in real life, which
/ should certainly have missed had /
not been conscientiously idle.
One afternoon fell into converse
ton with little man who was like
wise busy in the almost forgotten art
of doing nothing,
He was neat little man; his mus
tache was neatly trimmed, his figure
was neat and compact, his clothes were
neat.
We were watching girl fall off her
bicycle There were several people
looking on, and we oil enjoyed it very
much. The girl kept falling, but
whether she did it for our amusement
or because she couldn't help it / don't
know.
We discussed the "new woman"
and 1 was glad to find he didn't APP
prove of her, because do, and it gave
me chance of airing my views.
And SO a kind of intimacy sprang up
between us. We met nearly every
day, and bit by bit he told me his lit
tie story.
His name was Smollett, and he lived
in fat near the park with his wife
and child. He told me in confidence
that his wife was the best little woman
in the world, and limited that his child
was within a trife of being the best
little man.
Mr.. Smollett had been clerk in a
stockholders Office. But the stock
broker had taken wrong view of the
South African question, and. after be-
ing hammered, had gone through the
Bankruptcy Court and retired into the
country to live in contentment on his
wife's settlement. Mr.. Smollett was
in search of fresh appointment.
"You know" he said one day, "I'm
not greedy man. / don't look for n
large salary. Three or four pounds n
week would satisfy me very well for
the present. You see, my wife is such
q splendid manager"
believe he spent his mornings in
the delightful occupation of answering
advertisements and hunting up friends
likely to be of service. In the after
noon he lounged in Battersea Park.
But the weeks slipped away; and
spring was converted into summer.
Mr.. Smollett still made his appear
ance in the park, near the boathouse,
with unfailing regularity. He had
not found employment.
at strikes me" he said with kind
of airy philosophy, "that 1 shall have
to look out for something at about two
pounds week. A small loaf is better
than no bread, isn't it?"
"Quite so," assented, "and so is a
biscuit"
"And do you know" he ran on
eve are getting quite hard up. We
are indeed"
He said this with an air of surprise,
as if / could scarcely be expected to be-
lieve it. But as l had suffered from
the complaint for many years, I found
no difficulty in grasping the situation.
As the autumn approached he began
to look gloomily anxious. The scraps
of commonplace philosophy with which
he favored his conversation became
more cynical and less humorous.
aren't you going to smoke?" I
asked one day, noticing the prim little
cigarette was not forthcoming.
"No," he said, doubtfully. 81
don't think so. I'm afraid I shall
have to give it up; it doesn't alto
gether agree with me-"
He tapped himself on the chest as
he spoke, to signify, I suppose, that il
affected his throat. But I had my
doubts, and persuaded him to try my
tobacco.
The little man began to be a trihe
less spruce in his appearance II,
had managed to get wet through
two or three times; at one time h,
had an umbrella don't know wha
became Of it; and his clothes seemed
to shrink, and make him look pinchet
and thin.
BY the time the autumn had set in