Freeland tribune. (Freeland, Pa.) 1888-1921, 1901-09-25
A ROMANCE OF RAGS
BY Hope Harte.

rags" stood On the corner of two
Of the busiest streets of the city. The
beautiful covered him with white
mantle, and a cold, biting wind swept
chills through his thin, worn coat.
Passers by there were by hundreds, but
none bestowed upon him more than
disinterested glance. He was "stran-
ger within the gate" of a city where
poverty is too common to awake COM
ment.
Rags was the eminently fitting So
briquet given him by half a dozen dey
ilish youngsters.
rags" had walked the strests all day
in a frultless search for employment.
lie was willing to do anything" For
Gods sake, let me do somethingr'
The many times he had made this ap-
peal he had ceased to count. Truly
there was nothing prepossesslng in the
| appearance of the shaggy haired man,
with the stoop Of 60 years and the
burden of his poverty. And Rags
services were not in demand.
1t was growing dusk. Through the
thick mist of snow the electric lights
| began to twinkle.
The lonely man on the corner put his
hands in his pockets-they We're empty.
He heaved sigh and, turning, entered
n narrow side street leading to a cheap
lodging house. The door closed behind
him, and he wended his way up two
flights of rickety stairs to his room
his home. The mockery of the word
to how many poor, weary, aching,
breaking human hearts! 1t was cheer
less and cold, but the wind didn't blow
in even at that big hole in the window
half so hard as it did on the corner,
and Rags" was grateful for the cot
and the rickety table, with its new red
and green cover (he donation of some
enterprising 'Dorcas club'), and n hard
wooden chair.
A violin case stood in one corner of
the room.
rags" lighted the dirty lamp and
brought forth his old violin. He touch
ed it tenderly with his almost frozen
| fingers, rested it under his quivering
chin and drew the bow caressingly
across the strings.
He loved it. 1t had been his compan-
ion now for 40 years.
Its every tone was fraught with
sweet memories. When the strings
awoke to magic melody under the pres
sure of Loves bow, there thrilled an
answering vibration in fair woman's
heart, and even after the heart was
stlled the violin was the medium for
"heart to heart" talks-the messenger
from soul to soul 1t had been his
good fairy" it had brought him into
favor with the tickle goddess, Fortune,
and the queen of fame had smiled
when he and the old fiddle had played
for her-long, long ago
If Rags" We're playing for her to-
night, she would surely lay a laurel
wreath upon his silver hair, and tickle
Fortune should return and fill his pock-
cts with golden nuggets direct from far
Cape Nome, for he played tonight as he
had never played before.
A man passing on the street below
paused and listened. He entered the
lodging house and followed the stairs
up to the half open door whence came
the music. He was q man of 80 per-
haps, and his face was one familiar to
amusement patrons. He waited for the
music to cease.
Five-ten minutes-and still the vio-
linist played. Each passing moment the
/ liefannr al In I,at ha ho1
not been mistaken. lie peered il Mt the
door. The faint light fell across the old
mans face, his fingers had warmed, his
eyes flashed, and the love for his old in
strument (ah, there was the secret of
his power tonight shone in his counte-
nance. There was only one thing else
1 on earth he cared for-since Kate was
gone-and tonight was the last time he
would ever touch the beloved violin!
Tomorrow it would hang in some
pawnbroker's shop, and he
His frame shook with sobs, and the
music ended in broken chord.
| "Father!'
The word was uttered in low, con-
centrated tone, and the strong hand of
youth clasped the feeble hand of age.
"Fatherw
The old man started. The gray head
was raised, and the violinist looked
into the handsome face before him.
MY boy! My boy" he cried, his
arms round the two things he loved
most on earth, the old violin and his
child.
"And you never received my letter.
fatherY the boy had asked. 81 supposed
your silence meant that you We're still
angry with me, and pride forbade my
writing again."
1T was too hard on you, my lad,' the
old man wept. Kate told me so. Six
teen was but boy, and the circus ring
| is attractive'-
"From a reserved seat" the young
man interrupted. "But the spangles
| a pa fn,, tho hanoH+ af AZ onA