Freeland tribune. (Freeland, Pa.) 1888-1921, 1901-04-08
s Herbert French was leav-
ing street car. in which he
had ridden for about twenty

Hi, sirn' shouted the conductor,
you've left something behind"
French knew he had left nothing;
but he was not the man to lose the
chance of obtaining anything for the
sake of Il lie.
Here you are, sir" and the con.
ductor thrust parcel into his hand.
French gave the conductor n dime
and few minutes later was at the
house in which he lodged, and ascend
ed to his room. Here he examined the
article which Fate-or the car con
ductor-had given him. 1t was a
square, bulky package, enveloped in
brown paper and tied neatly with
piece of red tape. There was no adj
dress on the cover, and, opening it. he
found a quantity of closely-written
manuscript, inscribed in firm and
clear handwriting, and headed "The
Maze of Life"
1t was a story. he could see at a
glance; and TO name or address was
upon it. He threw it on one side,
with quiet laugh.
Not much fear Of that being adver
tised for" he said aloud. "Some poor
beggar of an author forgot it, | sup
pose who hasn't got n dollar TO bless
himself with-like me-"
Herbert French was an individual!
who for years had existed in the man.
uer which is commonly called Giving
on his wits" That is to say he could
turn his hand--or his head-to nearly
everything, but practically skillful at
nothing.
Once upon a time he held a good
position in II large business house; but
his name became mixed mp in sore
underhand practices, and he had to 60
He had drifted from one thing to an
other, as many man does. and now
he was caltvasser for advertisements
for so-called society weekly" run
by brOken-down journalist. There
WAS a certain amount of money to be
made at the work, and French spent
his scanty earnings like a prince How
ne managed to live was a puzzle to
many people and often a puzzle To
himself.
His landlady. with whom he settled
promptly. regarded him as an estimA.
bic lodger, and was loud in her praises
of the ''littery gent, on the third front"
Those OF whom he occasionally bor
rowed money referred to him in quite
different fashion.
For n day or two, French watched
the advertising columns Of the news
papers in the hope OF finding reward
offered for the manuscript in his pos
session. None appeared, however, and
the little pile of foolscap lay in his
room almost forgotten for some weeks
Then one night he picked it up ami
glanced curiOusly st the first sheet. He
read it and turned to the second, and
as he did so his interest was aroused
1t was seldom he read anything except
the police reports, but "The Maze of
Life" laid hold of him at once. Page
after page he eagerly devOured.
The fire in his room sank lower and
lower. and finally sank out in a feeble
splutter. A neighborinG clock chimed
the hour of two, but still he sat leaning
over the table, his eyes cleaning with
eagerness as he turned the sheets over
Now and again he would pause and
wips his forehead with his handSer
chief. AS the faint streaks of dawn
shimmered coldly through the win
dow panes he came to the end.
"Good Heavens" he murmured rs
he sank back, exhausted "What t
story
He gathered the manuscript togeth-
er again.
"Who wrote it, l wonder? It's mas
terpiece-a work of genius! The poor
devil who lost it-what n blow.'
Then came the thought: What to do
with it?" He knew the honorable
course open to him-to advertise it.
But Herbent French always preferred
to take the opposite course to the hon.
orable one.
Next day an idea struck him. 1t
scared him ut first in its insolence, and
be put it on one side as impossible and
too risky. Thinking it over later. il
lost its fearfulneSS. Ii was risky. GER
tainly; but he had grown callous 10
taking risks, especially whore money
was the inducement. And It might, he
thought, be possible for him to carry it
through unscathed.
"Why not have The Maze of Life
published as his own work? That It
would be accepted by publisher Of
repute on its own merits he felt sure,
a work that throbbed 18th genius, that
gripped the reader from the first chap
ter and held him spellbound to the end.
could not go begging. And the chances
of the real author coming forward?
What then? He preferred not to dwell
on that
Yes, lie would risk it, and il he was
discovered he would hrazen it out to
the end
He took The manuscript to n type
writing establishment, ana few DAYS
lates it was returned with a neatly
typed copy. lie burned the original
/ and felt much safer when this was
done. Then he despatched The type