, 1901-10-12
Two Lost Identities,
BY JULIA TRUITT BISHOP.

Copyright, 1901. by Daily Story Pub. Coz
This is the story of a prodigal. He
had been in a far country for a long
time, and had a large acquaintance
with huskS. While he was in that far
country. his hair. which bad been so
bonny and brown, had taken on a
thick sprinkle of snow. and his face
7 had fallen into fabby and d~issipated
lines. He generally dressed without
looking into the mirror. Mirrors have
a brutal ~frankness that Is particularly
hard on the man who has been dining
with the swine.
There We're times when the prodigal.
struggling up out of bed with the
headache that was his due. felt in his
coat pocket for the little handbook
that somehow connected his present
with a more respectable past.
There yet" he said to the bank
book with unsobCr Difference. Enough
left there to bury me like a gentleman.
No gentleman got any business in pot
ter's field"
Which will show hat even a de-
vOuTer of the husks hat the swine
did eat may draw the line somewhere.
The %prOdigal drew the line just out
side of the pottcr's field.
Perhaps the prodigal had never beer
more dignitied in his manner than
when he wandered one spring morning
into a little village ten miles from a
railroad: a village that drowsed and
nodded in the warm spring sunshine.
Somewhat unsteady as to his feet, but
j~udiCially correct as to his head, he
wandered acros the sunshiny little
public square by devious ways,
which at last brought him under the
awning OF the one little store. He
sank down on a bench there and look
ed at the proprietor. who was calmly
whiting.
"Shpring. lovely shpring," remark
ed the prodigal. Makes a man want
to go to country"
That's So" said the proprietor. Il
been a thinkin' I'd take a it'll, pas
eur out in the country myself this
week"
Fish a-bitin' over at the creek?"
asked the prodigal. with awakened in
~terest. and a lapse into some long
forgotten dialect.
"Wuss'n sand-fies," said the proprie-
tor. You're from the city, I reckon.
Ever been here befOrc?'
No" said the prodigal promptly.
Born an raised in the city. Never
been out Of it"
And the prodigal arose with sober
gravity and resumed his %wanderings
around the town.
Perhaps his mind was not yet alto
gether clear-perhaps he had begun to
browse. too, like the town, but when
he had been sitting on the steps of the
little church for a long time, and had
opened his eyes at last. he found a
little old man sitting beside him. The
little old man had a pipe in his hand.
which he was slowly filling with crum-
pied tobacco from one OF his pockets.
Walked up, did ye?" queried the lit
tie old man, pausing to look at the
pl ouISdl "lSlltlly. fllS eyes Idu ldu-
ed in color. along with the loss OF
youths eagle vision. and he had a way
of leaning forward and peering at one
that had a tendency to make one I'M
comfortable. In such circumstances,
one would perhaps lean that side of
his face on his hand and whistle
dreamily into space.
Yes. walked up" said the ~prodigal,
so sitting and so whistling. Having
spoken to this effect he whistled again.
From the city, amt ye?" asked the
old man thoughtfully staring into his
pipe. They was tellin' me up at the
store that they thought you was from
the city"
Yes said the prodigal with care
full directness, having grown sober.
Lived there all my life. How do folks
ever manage to live in the country?