The Jamesburg record., 1897-12-25

afraid was little harsh to him Any.
way he went off without a word, and
we amt never heard of him since. 1
feel pretty sure he's dead, but mother
here sticks to it he amt"
"And I'm goin to stick to it, John,
till know for sure. " And then with a
CHEEKY smile at me: sit kind of does me
good to keep lookin forward to seein
Rufe again some day, Now, come along,
John; it's gettin late. -
1 slipped on my jacket, whereupon
Pedro vanished, and accompanied the
worthy couple down to the door of the
building. On the stairs Mrs. Hale turn
ed and whispered to me: John talks
as if he didn't care much about Rufe's
goin off, but now he really does, Mr..
B. If he could find our boy, 'twould
take ten years off his age and mine too.
l did not doubt it, and l refrained
from saying that l thought it would
probably add ten years to Rufe's If he
could realize the sort of mother and IA
ther he had left so many years ago.
So bade them good night promising
to see them in the morning and with
hearty thanks for their thoughtful kind
ness, and watched them as they trudged
away toward the native quarters, their
sturdy figures towering above the mot
ley crowd of natives and Cinnamon
who thronged the narrow street aud
filed the air with their uncouth gable.
l sent my groom home with the pre-
cious pudding, and, mounting my pony,
al 70 bn 81,
club. There I found MeGregor, the old
Scotch doctor, standing in the doorway
and amusing himself by tossing coppers
one at a time to a crowd of lame, halt
and blind beggars, who as each coin fell
instantly became an appalling tangle of
skinny arms and legs.
"Hellor' said he as I drew up. 81
was just coming round after you. "Su-
lu" (get away to the beggars, who
were plucking atvarious portions Of his
raiment, and, like metamorphosed Oil
yer Twists, asking for more. Aren't
you acting American consul just now:"
he inquired.
During the temporary absence Of the
consul had undertaken his not very
arduous duties, being the only other
American resident in the place.
Well, " continued the "medico, F."
''I have a fellow counryman Of yours
very bad with fever down in Malacanan
(native quarter), a sailorman, only just
out of the Spanish jail for humping a
guardia (policeman) last year. l have
my doubts of his lasting long, and you d
better come down if you will. "
Of course l would come, consul or
not. In these hidden corners of the
world any one in trouble, vagabond
sailor, beach comber' or unlucky clerk
out Of employment is as sure of help
from more fortunate fellow countrymen
as if he were in his native land-surer
perhaps, unless he happen to be Chi
naman, in which case his friends let
him die unmolested and then pay the
expenses of burying him in China, a
backhanded sort of philanthropy, very
characteristic in John Chinaman
So the doctor jumped into public
carriage and ratified away toward Ma.
lacanan, while I followed on my pony,
leaving the beggars to philosophically
squat down around the club doorway
and resume their everlasting wall of
"Charity, for love of heaven, charity"
Poor old McGregor's story was sad
one. Long years before, as a young man,
he had come to the Philippines on a
pleasure trip with his wife, and here
she died suddenly Of cholera, that ter
rible scourge of the east, which then was
claiming its victims by thousands, and
for 20 years the doctor had never left
the island where she lay, among the
tall palms in the little English cemetery
on Santa Ana hill. But many others
had reason to bless the cause that kept
DR.. McGregor among them. From the
proudest Spanish official in his palace
to the humblest savage in his bamboo
hut the doctors time and skill were al
ways at their service. And many
youngster fresh from home had been
saved from going wrong in that land of
wild and lawless life by his kindly
words of counsel and advice
We stopped at last before a miserable
hut on the outskirts of the town, and
giving the pony in charge of a passing
native | followed the doctor in The in
terror was dark and comparatively cool
An old native woman, like a grotesque
image, was squatting on the bamboo
floor beside heap of "nipa" leaves
and pieces of mating, on which lay a
white man, tossing, turning and bab-
bling with delirium, in the full grip of
the jungle fever-a young man evident
ly, his once powerful frame, fearfully
reduced by illness and confinement, COW
cred by the ragged and grimy shirt and
trousers of a sailor. He became quieter
as McGregor raised his head and drank