The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1899-05-17

blocks away. Watterson buttoned his
coat tightly around him and walked
slowly down the steps. Which way
should he go? 1t didn't matter much
he would walk over to the avenue,
where the cable cars were. AS he
walked along the deserted cross street
a perfect calmness came over him.
After all, he was himself, living and
breathing, seeing and feeling. 1t sur
prised him somewhat that it should be
so, but it made his mere physical
senses strangely acute. He noticed
how hard the pavement was, how
rough the brownstone copings. and he
realized a certain pleasure in these
keen sensations. But at the same
time it seemed to him that part of him
self was absent or asleep-that part
of him that really noticed and felt
and that it would come back or wake
up to acute sensation-he could not
foresee exactly when.
In the middle of the avenue he stop
ped and peered down into the cable SLOT
The light from the arc lamp overhead
poured down into the opening and he
could see the cable and the little
wheels on which it ran. How it rat
tied and galloped along! Miles and
miles of it and hundreds of little
wheels-it was interesting to think of.
Suddenly it occurred to him that he
wasn't interested in the least in the
cable and the little wheels-that there
was only one thing he was really in
terested in and that thing he wanted
to forget.
1T can never be-"
The words rang suddenly in his ears
and stunned him. The cable, the street.
became hazy and indistinct, and at the
same time the part of him that really
felt seemed to come back or awake
1T can never be-" That part seemed
to be repeating like an echo, while he
himself stood gazing at the cable slot
and seeing nothing.
A violent changing right in his ear
brought him to himself With a bound
he reached the sidewalk and stood
there with beating heart, while the
cable cars whirred by.
II will be calm he said to himself
Il will walk back and think of some
thing else"
state of mind. II am not sleepy" he
thought, as he laid away his hat and
coat. Il will sit down and read awhile
and then go quietly to sleep"
Il am perfectly calm" he said to
himself, after finishing two or three
pages. Il understand perfectly all l
am reading" He had read half page
further when a snatch Of tune some
how got caught in his head and kept
repeating itself mournfully over and
over again. He struggled to read on.
Always that snatch of a tune. Why?
He had never heard it under any cir
cumstances to make him remember
it. And yet there was a certain fitness
about it to the present case. He felt
that and he hated the tune for it. He
threw down the book. Il will go to
bed-and to Sleep" he said.
In the darkness his thoughts became
terribly vivid, almost tangible. And
always that snatch of a tune kept re-
peating itself like the murmur of the
ORCHESTRA in theater when q mslo-
dramatic situation occurs. To-day had
been marked, different from all other
days. Would tomorrow be like the
others? He wondered what it would
be like? Il shall get up as usual and
breakfast. Where? At the Hopkins.
And what shall l have? Why not a
good breakfast? Yes, l will have some
fruit and then some coffee and boil
ed eggs and some nice French rolls.
That will not be so different, though.
| have eaten that breakfast before.
But yes, it will be different. Why?
Because of to-day. Yes, that will make
it different" After breakfast he
should go to the office, see the same
faces, do the same work, but it would
all be different-because Of to-day.
at never can be-"
But could it never be? Possibly it
could be, years hence. She would
marry some brute of a husband who
would make her unhappy. Then after
years, she would be free-somehow.
He would be famous, rich, very rich
perhaps, then. She would be DOOR
They would meet and then it might
be. She would be willing then. But
she had said it never could be and of
course it couldn't be then. He should
be too reconciled to it's not being.
But then it was not because he
wasn't rich or famous, it was because
she didn't. He felt something hot
and moist on his cheeks. Why, he was
crying He didn't mean to let himself
do that. He was glad it was dark. He
felt ashamed. At the same time he
was angry-angry that any one should
have the power to make him cry. He
almost hated her for a moment. Sud-
denly, while he was in this mood, the
thought of pistols came into his mind.
He pictured out what he would do.
He would go and shoot himself on the
doorstep her doorstep late at night
no, early in the morning. He saw
himself lying there, covered with
blood Somebody opens the door