The Wichita daily eagle. [volume] (Wichita, Kan.) 1890-1906, 1900-01-06
The Park Row Ghost.

ROW.
The men who still remember old Doc
Ray in the days when he was in the
| swim don't bother about his ghost now.
| don't want TO see it, don't want TO hear
! the story of its life. Doc is dead to
thems and as far as they can make out
| his ghost is keeping the wolf from the
door, and that's ali they know or want TO
know about the matter
For fifteen years old Doc hasn't spo-
ken a word to the men he once numbered
among his friends, and so by degrees he
| has left off talking altogether. Neyerthe-
less, he, or rather his ghost, clings to
! the Row with a queer, hopeless tenacity.
| Even his old friends, the bartenders, have
| forgotten him, but they let him stand in
warm corners of the saloons on cold win
| Der nights although jhe never buys any
| thing TO drink. In short, Doc" Ray has
| parted with his name, his identity and
mis- place. in the world. He is 10 all in
| tents ard purposes ghost.
His hair is like the driven snow in
| whiteness, his form gaunt and wasted.
| Having ears ne hears not and the hustling
world OF the Row draws no flash from
his tired eyes.
| Although the Row is populous with
| brother ghosts, Doc never fraternizes
| with any Of them. Perhaps it is because
| old Doc Ray is not even conscious of
| their presence. The latter hypothesis is
! the more probable, for 'eDoc'' seems to
| live in some past where there is place
| for none but himself, where the memories
|, are too heavy with sadness to share with
anyone.
| A quarter of a century ago, or perhaps
more, Doc" was : staggering reporter
] of the old school, He prided himself on
/ being able TO write a better story when
| Intoxicated than most of his confreres
could do in their soberest senses. And
| there was something in the boast. Doe
Ray had a lot of go in him, and if his
| English was a trife free there could n
no question as to its Astounding energy.
Then one day doc" went off and got
! married to the prettiest girl in the pro-
| fession. She wrote the wishy-washy stuff
that passed as a society column in those
days, but what she lacked in literary fin
ish she made up more than a hundred
fold in good looks. Everybody said she
was fool to marry Doe for even the
| professional scoffers admitted that she
might have done much better, With an
exquisitely moulded figure, laughing blue
| eyes and gold brown hair that broke into
ripples and curls wherever it eluded con-
| finement, she was as pretty a picture as
Doe was another man from the day
of his wedding The all night celebra-
tons OF his salad days were abandoned
Home was the goal he now wrote and
fought for during the long and exacting
hours Of newspaper toll He worked like
a demon, sparing not himself and spurn-
ing no task however disacreeable.
The old friends dropped away from him
one by one. He made no new friends He
asked no one TO his home, and his wife
vanished utterly from the Row, where her
grace, beauty and daintiness had been
the wonder and admiration of a then
slovenly and untidy class of craftsmen.
So the years slipped away, with Doc"
| mounting even higher upon the ladder of
success. He had written several short
stories for the magazines that were spo-
ken highly Of His self-denials and hon
est appetite for work were beginning TO
make themselves felt in the limited world
of newspaperdom.
And then one day one of the boys gath
cred his cronies about him and told
strange story of a beautiful woman
brought into police court where he had
been working so much the worse for
liquor that she had to be supported on
either side by a policeman. They could
get nothing out of her and were about
into the court room, pale, haggard and
trembling. A few words to the judge to
whom Doc" was well known sufficed,
and the woman-"Doc's" wife-was given
into his charge and he took her home.
That was all there was to the story,
but it created a sensation, and in a few
hours was in every newspaper office in
the city. Everybody looked to see Doe
give way under the strain, sut not so.
He was merely more reserved, more in
tent upon his work, more of a hustler
than ever before. He took nobody into
his confidence. but bore his burden alone
ard in silence, and nobody cared to in
trude upon that silence.
But the truth about Docs home life
was really more terrible than anyone i'm
agined. The delicate. exquisite woman
whom the reporter had taken to his heart
had in the long hours when Doc" was
at his work taken to tipping for a So
lace.
Deprived Of the stimulus of the exact
ing work she had done for so many years.
and which her husband would not hear
of her keeping up, she had turned to
drink as the sustainer and it had cap
tured her body and soul. Long before
her disgrace was openly revealed in the
police court she had become a slave TO
Doc" had managed to keep his secret
well and to bear it like d man.
The Row never knew how the unhappy
story ended, and possibly there are few
Of Docs" contemporaries left who will
care to know now. All they did know at
the time was that Doc suddenly dfsap-
peared from the office without a word
Of explanation and was never heard of
again. The little fiat uptown was broken
up and the furniture carted away. The
gossips said that Mrs Ray had run away
with another man and that doc" had
gone in pursuit, saying he would return
when he had killed his wife's betrayer.
Well. ne did return, but so old and
gaunt and shabby and reticent that he
was avoided by common consent He
made no effort to break the silence ..o-
did he seek for any work. He simply
drifted and drifted. and finally took his
place among the other sad ghosts of the
Row
This IS the story Of old Doc" Raw. who
lives only. IN the past You may see MS
bent form any day or night. winter and
summer, clad in the old, rusty gray suit
vending silently along, needing neither
heat nor cold. the tired eyes fixed on
the ground, the tired feet trudging aim
leSSiy toward a haven that IS never won.
The world. his world that once was.
has forgotten him as utterly as he mas
forgotten 1t. How does he live? He alone
can tell. and II you were 70 ask him
all the satisfaction you would get would
be wavering stare and q shake OF the
head as he resumed his endless tramp
New York Journal.
Outward signs.