The Winslow mail., 1898-12-24

i
that thought it was splendid idea
indeed, I thought it was. The old man
grew enthusiastic and wanted to go
nome at once to begin on the new play
the play that was to succeed atlast.
Since that evening I had seen very
little of Bernard Froebel. | had been
very busy, having regular employment
with the magazines. Therefore, al
though knew that the old mans
hnances must be at low ebb, it was
with considerable of shock that came
to realize that he was probably starv-
ing.
| could not work; my thoughts
strayed incessantly to the old man up
stairs. had had good supper; it was
hard to realize that Froebel was lack
ing food, | could not endure the
thought. I went downstairs and out
OF the house, I hurried to nearby
restaurant and procured nice game
pie, pat of butter, some rolls and a
bottle Of wine. Armed with this went
to Froebel's room.
found the door locked. This was un-
usual. To my knock the old man came
close to the door and asked. "Who is
there?"
1T is |, Froebel; let me in" cried.
Unless it's important 1 wish you'd
excuse me-" he said, still keeping the
door shut. "I'm very busy"
"Oh, open, mani" cried; 'I've some
thing to say to YOU"
S1oxx-1x- bo o,,o,o5 +bo a..
ing my burden of eatables, shamefaced-
ly entered. By the light of smoky
kerosene lamp I noticed that Froebel's
eyes were red. He looked as if he might
have been weeping,
ITS my birthday to-day" said, with
an attempt at a laugh, "and want to
celebrate. forgot all about it until
just now, and then / felt it was not
fitting for me to celebrate alone. Be-
sides, sold an article to-day, so went
downstairs, bought some grub and came
up here to enjoy your company. Come
on, old man, let us eat and drink and
be merry"
"Ihanks-no-I do-not-eare-to-
eat. ou-wiil-excuse-m he said,
haltingly, and with mary a strange
glance toward the food. 81 have-al-
Ieady-had-my = ah = supper. A
-supper-thank-y
| knew be lied to save his self-re-
spect, but what could I do? The old
hunger. My presence seemed to worry
him. To save the awkward situation |
said, hurriedly:
"How's the new play getting along?"
This was familiar ground, and soon
the old man had sorted the manuscript
and in a weak voice and with many a
cough was reading passages from the
play to me. l cannot give the play,
scene for scene, but, as l rememb Der it, it
was to be in four acts. 1t was, with very
slight variation, the story of the old
man't life-a very simple, kindly, low
able life. The action was unstudied and
natural there was no hint of melo-
drama, no element of comedy--a quiet.
quaint, simple play that touched the
finer chords of human sympathy and
brought tears close to the eyes.
As the old man read on could i'm
agine / saw him on the stage, acting the
part of his principal character, his gray
hairs, his furrowed face, his hating
voice, his pathetic story, all appealing
to the hearts and sympathies of his au-
dience, and, as he laid the manuscript
down, I choked back the sob that rose
in my throat.
II have not begun the last act yet,"
said Froebel. -do-not-know-how
to end-it."
"Why, I'll tell you'll" cried, with q
burst of hopeful confidence. I'm your
last act make good fortune come to your
hero-yourself. Have the play accepted
and a great success, and have riches
pour in upon the g-disappointed
! playwright so that, at last, he can leave
behind forever the misery and squalor
Of keen poverty; SO that he can move
nto the country, fresh and green, buy
little home with trailing vines and
flower beds about it and live there III
peace and happiness all his days"
1t was nearly midnight when left
him. He was tired and was going to
bed, he said. In the morning he would
try to finish the last act.
In the morning before I went to get
NY breakfast l ran up to Froebel's
-oom. The door was locked. / knocked,
out received no response. / knocked
again, louder. From inside there came
10 sign. l summoned the landlady.
With her permission forced the crazy
door inward, swapping the lock.
The old man sat in his chair by the
window, The poor old head was bent
forward on a pile of manuscript. The
morning sun, beating through the
broken shutters, shone brightly on his
iilvered hair. l went over and touched
lim on the shoulder.
The old mans pen was IN his
,ramped and rigid hand, Close to it
vas sheet of paper on which was writ
ens "The Last Act" Under this was
written:
"And this, also, is a sore evil, that in all
parts as he came, so shall he go: and what
profit hath he that hath labored for the
wind?"
1t was his epitaph. The drama of his
ife had ended. The curtain had rung
1own.-Collier's Weekly.