Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1900-05-12
My deaAsoy-my - eoy-1 can never

say enough SfSxaur>pluck"
cit wouldn't have amounted to much II
up-I must get some Steep And presently
he was tumbled on his bed, his clothes all
on.
Hours after he awoke. The window
was open. 1t was wonderfully still. You
could hear the splashing of the little stream
| not far away. His eyes, half open, saw the
pines on the hillside.
Then it was not these things at all, but
| long stretch of lawn, with beyond an old
red brick house. 1t was his own; it was
home. And the finest gentleman In all the
world was walking there-the dear old gen.
eraEwhile presently his mother drove up
| In her phaeton and called to him. But he
| Ing Annie how not to "muf a ball. Annie
| was a chubby-faced. small girl. who
laughed at this. and said she knew much
about it as he
And then there were other scenes and
other faces, his brothers and his sister, and
always somewhere in the background that
chubby girl, whose face after time, to
be sure, grew less chubby, and when he was
back from school she almost grown
up and didn't seem to think much of him
or he of her.
Then, again. 1t was school, and soon col
lege; friends who had gone from him;
events that were like dreams, just as all
life is dream to the dead.
He now was watching boat race; INV
dancing at a promenade with Anne; now
| again in Far Westchester, and then he was
In London and all about-your young man
man of many clubs and Of the town.
He had two sides to his nature. one
strong for the inherited sense of the gentle
man, the other for pleasure and subtly
pleasure Slapped the strength 1t was Den
by here and DENLY there-a youth to be
| talked about. Ache now was quiet
young woman, of whom he saw little. But
life was the best fun.
Presently he was doing things he once
would not have thought of doing: and then
more of them, and more of Them until they
and mo-, hAor lit,
for he was full of force and passion for
whatever he did. and his was not the ma
| tIre to brook criticism. Men told their
men friends that they would not be seen
with him. Annie's brothers, once his warm
est friends. told her that people fled from
him as rats from a sinking ship.
But he had new friends. not such nice
ones, to be sure, and soon, when GER
tain successes he had had on the street"
turned to failures, these. too, began the
Cutting process-"Fel!ows l wouldn't have
in my house, DENLY said.
Then there came the dreadful day when
the dear old general turned as adamant
| and told him he had dsgraced the family.
But his mother. in the graveyard, could
not know-or did she know?
In town things went from bad to worse.
If sullen pride often held him up there were
other days when shame tore Denbys heart.
His friends were gone; his family was gone;
he snubbed at his clubs: he had become
one of those who disappear" You see
them about for some years and then they
vanish, and you wonder where
OF a day at this period of his career he
passed Annie somewhere near Washington
Square. She bowed graciously as ever.
He replied as stiffiy he could. But she
looked back and called out:
why, Jim, why don't you ever call now?:'
II haven't time; and, You know-you
know, you ought not to want to see me-
Il will prove that You simply have to
persist-not to give up. It's work you want
woodwork. AS for you. JIM l have known
nnp m n
time-under any circumstances
She spoke rapidly and her eyes and words
were earnest. and he was out of her class,
utterly out of tia man unbiased.
He broke away as soon as he could he
did not want to have people see her with
him; there was too much scandal. true and
untrue. about him; and. thank heaven ne
had something of the gentleman left.
But her words rang in his ears, ITS work
you want-work.
He had dawdled and fooled and thrown
things away; but she had recognized him
with no forced smile. And there was a
way--the way of work. But what work
could he do?
Yet the thought cheered him. and he took
pains for some days to return uncheerful
mods by those uncheerful. Again he be-
gan look at DENLY of a line of men
who had led other men, He dropped GER
tain acquaintance who had shamed him.
And one day he went to Bronson, Who
knew him slightly.
He made no explanations: nor did Bron-
son require them-he knew the case: for
DENLY was the talk Of the town. He knew
his family.
You think you want to get away to
learn a trade?'
Where L am quite unknown I want an
apprentices chance-that Is the reason l
am here. 1 want a letter to one of the
managers in a company you are interested
in-simply introduce me, without saying
anything in my favor or cisfavor-if you
can help 1t. And then, l want this men
toned to no one-to none of my family
We'll" said the other. after moment,
II will do it,
And Bronsons word-his word was bond
had been kept to the letter
1t had been since nothing but work.
work. as the girl who had been stanch to
him had told him.
longed for at times with fierce intensity.
Yet at last he had mastered h;mself in the
day Of work.
Now, waking with the gurgling stream in
his ears. all this past paraded, until he
sprang up, remembering.
Il have forgotten that Dalaicld may
want me-
A short time after this DelaGcld brought
him wire to the effect that the president
of the company wanted the new supcrin-
tendents presence in New York.
II don't care to CO. Den5y answered.
Yet. why shouldn't he? lie was strong,
sure of himself now. Ambition tus;Sed at
his heart. and then that longing for home.
tor the old ways, came ever him. If people
chose 10 shup Iiih ne lclt now mat ne
could show them man who no longer
cared. He felt the strong man he was; who
had thrown all his passionate strength into
| what he had been doing. There were the
people, the workers, he himself had been
as he was; the workers so often nIi.Iel so
incapactated for seeing things clearly. He
must use his strength for them; his
strength that had come like the steel out
of the fire.
You had better go. They may want
you for manager" Delafield laughed.
He threw some clothes into trunk and
went. They were clothes rather out of
date. but well made he thought. AS he
drew toward New York the longing for the
old things was strOnger-even to the de-
tails-to sit once more in a club; to have q
good dinner. served by good servants; to
wear well-made clothes. He had gone down
among the people. and now he belonged to
both classes.
The president Of the company saw that