Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1900-04-12

Why could ne not stop thinking,
having made his resolution? Why
must he remember those hideous de-
tails that brought the blood in a hot
rush to his jaded face? Why must
he recollect old Effinger. for twenty
years the manager of the house,
whose careful savings had gone up
with the rest? Efinger impoverished,
and in his old age, and because of the
fatuous folly of an incompetent ass
who lacked the ability to run a con-
Germ himself and who had not the
sense to ask advice of his elders.
There were other things which were
no less distressing to remember.
There were the men and women who
had counted on steady employment
from the firm. some Of whom had
every reason to suppose that their yo-
cation for life was fixed. He knew
some OF the young men who had mar
ried on this supposition, men who
trusted him entirely. He was, I'M
fortunately for his peace of mind, &C
Quainted with the private life of many
Of his employees. He knew what their
responsibilities were. He thought of
Maggie O'Neill. who cared for five
brothers and sisters and who had no
one TO help her in the fght-patfent
Maggie, whose eyes had always looked
into his with frank goodwill and graf
itude.
He calmly set a date for his decisive
act, and counted the days with some
thing like anticipation. The burden
Of chagrin and regret upon him was
so heavy that the thought of rest was
heavenly indeed. He had no doubt.
he told himself, that the grave meant
absolute oblivion. When that ingen-
iOus piece Of workmanship, the brain,
ceased its restless labors, there was
nothing-no knowledge, no fears, no
joys. Oblivion was best Still, what
if his reckOnings were wrong? What
if he found himself plunged yet more
irretrievably into a sea Of remorse?
What if-but what childish folly. The
grave was the grave. It was the peri
Cd When one achieved death, one
wrote fms"
The fatal day came. He saluted it.
This is the day of my release, -
said he, and the heart which had
dragged at him till it seemed an in
supportabIe physical burden was
eased a trife. He fingered long over
his bath, and took note of all the
comforts he enjoyed in his pleasant
rooms. Then he made an inventory
of the furniture and bric-a-brac and
laid it where it could easily be found.
He took his watch, which had been
gift from his father, pawned it for all
that it would bring, and sent the
money to Maggie O'Neill, giving her
no hint of the donor. He wrote a note
OF abject apology to poor old Effnger
an apology such as a dying man
writes to one he has ruined. Then he
called on Wtnnifred Inderrierden.
It was late afternoon, and she was
receiving, SO when he went in he
found her with many others
"Is there no hope that I can see you
alone for a moment he managed to
say, getting close to her at the tea
table. She looked up smilingly
I'm afraid not. Art What made
you so stupid as TO come today? Don't
you remember that Thursdays
Il haven't been remembering any,
thing very well recently" he said and
moved away.
But you are coming back?" she
called. He shook his head. bowed
tremendously to the ladies near him,
and left. What a bright, eIate, un-
sophisticated face his sweetheart had!
She dwelt in a world apart from his
She had known nothing but sunshine,
and could not even guess at such
travail Of the spirit as he was endur-
ing. It was just as well, no doubt.
He wondered that he did not suffer
more acutely at his parting with the
woman he loved, and suspected that
he was not living up to the full oppor-
tunity for pain. But it seemed a little
thing to make a personal sacrifice af-
ter what he had endured If it had
only been within his power to give up
more and so retrieve the disaster for
those who had trusted him. then it
might not be necessary to do the
dreadful thing that remained to be
done that night He looked at his
watch. Dinner had taken him lone
time. It had ben a good dinner, con
sisting of the things he liked best.
That particular waiter had served
him for two years, and they silently
enjoyed each others society. Arthur
arose now and held his glass in his
hand
Dixon, said he, have the kind
ness to fill that glass over there and
to drink with me TOTO the past,
| Dixon"
But that will do no good, sir" said
the colored boy, looking worried. He
| did not like the gentleman's manner
Nothing does any good, Dixon, but
drink" So the man did as he was
bid. After he had paid for his dinner
Arthur laid little pigskin purse upor
the table
Dixon, / have often tipped you. To
night am not going to do so, becaus;
you seem like a friend-the last FRIEND
| I have-and one does not tip ones
friends. But kindly take this little
purse and in it put the tips of other