Evening journal., 1901-03-15
A GATE MANS STORY.
ny HARRISON $. NORRIS.

~ all DuJ utNelluticnhg DellcNe Inab II
was my good fathers purpose to give me a
middle name. He was a knowing man, was
my father, and the usefulness Of a middle
name must have been quite plain to him
at the time of my birth. If / had been
named, for instance, Samuel Archimedes
Diggles or Samuel Moses Diggles, the i'm.
posing appearance of the abbreviated name,
s. Archimedes or S. Moses Diggles, must
have been a great aid to my advertisement
in life.
As it is, / am only the gatehouse man
OF the Asylum for Decayed Gentlemen
decayed, i may say, only in fortune, for
some of them is still vow IL with all
franlness-the best and heartiest of gents
! cannot recolect when / turned gate house
man Of this asylum. The thing was born
with me, like. The first remembrances !
have are of the little square room where
now sit, with the high-backed rockers, the
portrait Of my respected father done in oils
which never done him any credit, for he
was a handsome man enough-and the
little halfround window over there opposite
the asylum gate, where the gatemen sit
on the watch for decayed gents, going or
coming. Ny mother, she was an angel, if
ever the earth held one / am glad they
never done her in oils-they'd have spoiled
her. No artist could do her credit-at
least me and my father thought so, and he
was a man Of pretty taste in the arts.
As for me, well, / think, that print Of
Gen. Washington, surrounded by his family
there, amt bad taste of a mans eye for
the beautiful. But l was going to tell you
how l came to have my little darling here
on my knee. Hol sweeting It's of thee,
childl Wake up, It's not bed time yet.
Wake up, pretty
Ali it was a wicked nght-that Christ
mas eve of five years agonel 1t had
showed all day, till the asylum wall was
nigh out of sight in places where the
drifts were deepest, and the windows Of
our little gate house-a good yard from the
ground, you see?-were almost covered in.
Sounds outside were muffied and afar off
and the coziness of the fire in here was
something amazing. We had a bit Of
cake and wine that night and father was so
lively fell a-ralying Of him and a-chaff
ing Of him about his youthful spirits
though, in truth, he was always Of cheer
ful disposition, even in the depressing
company of the decayed gents who made
him a sort Of conidant in their misfor.
tune.
Nthf We WNAt oAttihb ntAtf idNlti dhh
and Mr.. Holldge, a-talhing and a-sippine
our wine, and-who Mr.. Hollidge wasg Oh,
he was one of the gents who often came
down to the gate house o nights, but he
was a very silent man, and never joined
much in the talk. He would sit over there
in the corner by the stove an hour at
time and never speak a word, but he took
fancy to my father and seemed TO want
20 he trffth him, lilo Il. 4u1 cNaNaIrf
looking gent, with a bald head edged by
dark hair, that turned Just over his ears
and neck. He always dressed in black, and
though twas but poorly, yet he made his
clothes look handsome on him by the way
he carried 'em. He was a true gent,
think.
"Wen," says father, "here's to Mr.
Hollidge," and he lifted his glass toward
him in the corner. and then motioned me
TO fl up and drink. The gent took il
kind, and thanked us with sad sort Of
smile, and think he was a-going to get on
his feet and say something However just
then came a gentle knocking at the door
and got up to see who was there, for we
didn't expect any other company. and all
the gents was in for the night. l opened
the door soft like. for | didn't want TO in
terrupt him speaking, and whispered
whats wanted"
There was no answer, but light kind o
pressure against the door, so ] just opened
il enough TO step out, when a woman witt
a child in her arms walked in front Of me
and then, as retreated, came into the room
She was benumbed with the cold and snow
and could not speak for many minutes. Ny
father brought her near the fire, and, taking
l r,slI -, HE ahufnH ffa lift
hands asd warmed its face at the opeI
stove.
ooh. my man, twas a pitiful sight TO SCI
how wretched a thing she'd fallen to- Their
had been once a pride in her. Part of i
/ fingered still in her very walk, but she wa
sunk very, very low. The child (ilo
pretty, open eyes and look at the gentle
/ manly was but twelvemonth old, and
was well-nigh dead with hard exposure {
such a night We did what we could 70
them both with our bachelor housekeeping
and, little by little, brought the woman I
say some words. They were words q
| gratitude, but spoken very low and yer
brokenly and then my father set about NAL
ing some hot coffee and preparing a morsI
for her to eat.
The gent on the other side Of th
stove did not move while we were atten,
ing to her. 1 don't even know whether
looked at her; but l am sure she did nc
know that anybody else was present.
and by, when she had eaten and drunk an
became warm enough to move about, ST
walked over TO the settee where my fath'
had wrapped up the child, and, taking O
the coverlet, looked mournfully in its fac
and then kissed It, She turned from
, anon toward my father and me, and wit
olasped hands and an imploring look begg'
us to think no i'll of her. We tried to paci
her, and led her toward her seat at Il
stove. and then knew she had seen NJ
n Holidge. She started from our helpf
, grasp and took a step or two back with bo
, hands at her temples. But she made
! sound. The shock was more than she cou
=, endure, and her overwrought body sank Il
der it to the ground.
There was a dead silence for a minu
most-it seemed an hour-then Mr.. Holid
arose sternly and silently from his SCI
He was white as death, but his grace
bearing never forsook him. He walk
y around her, as if it had been pollution
q touch her, and stepped close to the chi
. He uncovered its face and looked at
IS curiously but tenderly-it was such 10
!. as mortal agony should cast on a lit