The Bossier banner. [volume] (Bellevue, Bossier Parish, La.) 1859-1952, 1901-02-07

L y e.
what 90 you suppose he means to say
there now. is it PETERS mulishness,'
no it can't be that looks more like"
"oh, for heavens sake" blazed forth
Richards, fairly exasperated "Shut
up minute and I'll tell you. 'Whis-
kers,' OF course. PETERS whiskers.' i"
And Mrs. Jillson, for once in her life
struck speechless by the torrent of
the foreman's wrath, took her copy
and walked Imply back to her case.
A constrained silence fell upon the
little group of printers. There was
no approval in the glances cast to-
ward their irritable foreman, for Mrs.
Jlllson was considered a privileged
character in that Office. and most of
the printers cherished resentments
of their own. Half ashamed of the
language he had used to an old lady,
silly and exasperating even though
She was. Richards turned away and
went about his work.
| What if she does talk" he thought.
IF it does her any good she can keep
ON. An old woman who has to grub
for her living in this Tophet of a
printing Office might be allowed that
privilege, if it's any satisfaction to
her. Maybe l ought to go and apollo
yize."
| But Richards did not apologize. He
went to the case where the quaking
apprentice was laboriously setting re-
| int
his stick.
| 'These lines are spaced frst-rate, :"
he said. You're improving, Minus"
| AS the clock struck 12 the printers
trooped out for dinner. Unlike the
others, Richards always ate his lunch
at the Office, ostensibly because of the
distance to his home. In reality he
knew it was dread of the oppressive
memories which the place recalled
and from which he could find partial
relief in incessant activity and atten-
ton to his work. 1t was only last
New Years that he had laid away
the bright-eyed, joyous wife who had
been his companion and helpmeet,
and while the bells were pealing forth
in joyous promise they seemed to
sound the knell for his own dead
heart, buried forever. Richards had
been a different man from that time,
and he knew it. He was thinking of
that while his fellow printers passed
the little board partition behind
which he had retired for his lunch.
Two of them were talking about him,
and he could distinguish their words.
''0ld Richards is little crankier
than usual to-day" young Gaynor was
saying. "What do you suppose is the
matter with that fellow, anyhow? just
constitutional, is it?"
II don't know what it is and don't
care" responded the other, ''but II.
tell you what, he'll jump on the wrong
fellow some time. Then he has no
cinch on the job, anyway, and there'll
| be roar that Steele can't afford to
| ignore. even if Richards is the best
foreman he ever had" Then the
| young men passed on down the street.
Richards knew he was not cranky
He readily acquitted his parents of all
responsibility for his defects, whatever
they might be. It was not so very
long ago that he had been a carefree
compositor, like Gaynor. and nobody
ever called him queer or cranky then.
| He had loved the good-natured cyni-
cism of the shop, and entered heartily
| into the serio-comic discussions of men
and affairs with which printers are
| 81 - Al - IL
His feflow-typos were doubtless cor
rect in their estimate of his character,
but mistaken as to the cause of its de-
| fects. In the solitude of his lunch
room the events of the past five years
rose wildly before him. He had en-
gagged in business venture of his own,
and had failed. 1t was ill-advised, i'm
possible of success from the very start.
but he had done his best. He had
worked with superhuman energy,
while wiseacres suggested foolish ex-
pedients and ignorant critics carped.
Failure had been gall and wormwood
to the proudspirited young man, yet
| he could not remember that anyone
had spoken of him then as Gaynor had.
Perhaps he had not been Quite the same
since that ill-advised attempt, and yet
ii only she had not died.
At home there had been no trace
OF Unconstitutional crankiness" in the
chummy father and husband, nor
were his relations with the print
/! ers in shop n so very disagreeab Bile
| then. But when the relentless hand
of disease, and suffering. and death.
! had robbed him of his treasure, the
| heart of Richards nursed the bitterness
| of a misanthrope and he hated the
world. which had ill-uSed him, and
mankind, who would not understand
him.
The words of Gaynor's companion
alarmed him. Was there another
crushing blow in store for him this
Thanksgiving? Steele was his friend,
and it was true that Richards was far
more efficient than his predecessors,
| but if a concerted demand for his re-
moval were made there could be but
one result. He might not get another
place. and there was the deficit from