El Paso daily herald. (El Paso, Tex.) 1881-1901, 1900-02-09
sjsS;s;sS ESSEE:
! HIS TH|RT|ETH BIRTHDAY !
On That Day He Decided to Re-
nounce Preferment For the
Girl He Loved.
BY Lloyd Osborne. :
'SsSs;sTjs SEcSSEs

jS;s;sTTT S*HxHHes
His thirtieth birthday! His first
youth was behind him, with all its
heartburnings, it's failures, it's mani
fold humiliationS. What had he done
these years past but drift, forlorn, pen
niless and unattached, over those shall
lows where others had stuck and pros
pered?
In the colonies he had toiled unre-
mittingly in half hundred characters,
groom, cook, boundary rider, steamer
roustabout, always sinking. always
falling Had life nothing more for
him than an endless succession of not
empty days on the farthest beach of
Upolu. with scarcely more to eat than
the commonest Kanaka and no other
outlet for his energies than the barter
ing of salt beef for cOprah and an &C.
casional nights fishing on the reef?
The noise of an incoming boat drew
him to the door, and he looked out to
see the pastors old whaler heading
through the pass. \ half grown girl
leaDed into the water and fastened up
to the store with something fastened
in a banana leaf. 1t was a letter,
which she shyly handed to the trader.
Walter KinroSS looked at it with sur
prise, for it was the first he had re
ceived for four years, and the sight of
its English stamp and familiar hand
writing filled him with something like
awe:
Ny Dear Nephew-I know you're pretty old to
come back and start life afresh here, but if you
haven't had the unmitigated folly to get married
out there and tied by the leg forever I'll help
you to make new start. if you have the grit to
do it. You shan't starve if 81, 500 year will
keep you, and if you will try and turn over
leaf and make man of yourself in good ear
nest prepared to mark you down subStan-
italy in my Will.
But, mind, promises; payment strictly by
results You're longer a boy, and this is prob
ably the last chance you ii ever get OF entering
civilized life again and meeting respectable folk.
inclose you draft at sight on Sydney for S1,5O.
for you will doubtless need clothes, etc, as well
your passage money, and if you decide not to
return you accept it a present from your
old uncle. Afectionateiy yours,
ALFRED BASSocK-
The house could not contain him and
his eager thoughts; he must needs feel
the sky overhead and the trades
against his cheek, and take all nature
into his puny confidence. Besides.
Vaiala had now a new charm for him.
one he had never counted on to find
Hard and lonely though his life had
been. this Samoan bay was endeared to
him by a thousand pleasant memories
and even by the recollection of his past
unhappiness. Here he had found peace
and love, freedom from taskmaSters.
scenes more beautiful than any picture,
and, not least, sufficiency to eat
A little money, and his life might
have been tolerable, even happy;
enough money for good sized boat, a
COW or two, and those six acres of the
Pascoe estate he had so often lonSed to
buy. How often had he talked of it
with Leata, who had been no less eager
than himself to harness their quarter
acre to the six and make them all his
little paradise. Poor Leata, whom he
had taken SO lightly from her fathers
house and paid for in gunpOwder and
kegs of beef; his smiling, soft eyed
Leata, who would have died for him.
What was to become of her in this new
arrangement of things.
By this time he had worked quite |
round. the bay, and almost without |
knowing it he found himself in front of |
Paul Englebert's store. Englebert was |
the other trader in Vaiala, a peppery.
middle aged PrusSian, who had been i |
good friend of his before those seven |
breadfruit trees had come between |
them.
He recalled Englebert's rough, jovial |
kindness, remembered how Paul had |
cared for him through the fever, and |
helped him afterward with money and |
trade. How could he have been so petty |
as to make a quarrel of these bread |
fruit trees? Poor old Paul! 1t was a |
shame they hadn't spoken these two |
years.
On the veranda, barefoot and in /
striped pyjamas, was Englebert, pre-
tending not to see him. To Kinross, as |
he walked up the path and mounted |
the veranda stairs, the man looked old |
and sick, and not a little changed.
''How do you do, Englebert?" he said.
The German looked at him with |
smoldering eyes. "Gant you see I'm
5usy?" he said.
"You might offer a man a chair"
said Kinross, seating himself on the
tool chest.
"Dere is no jare for dem dat isn't wei
come" said the German.
81 used to be welcome here" said
Kinross. 'There was time when you