The Princeton union. [volume] (Princeton, Minn.) 1876-1976, 1902-11-20

fire in Pittsburg which had killed six
teen girls, but his story was not there!
He looked over the editorial page,
where the great editor had launched
his keenest invectives against munici-
pal abuses, and there, too, were those
bright paragraphs whose wit had chal-
lenged his admiration before. How
paltry they seemed today! The other
pages contained the usual record of a
coming war in Europe, etc., but his
sketch was not there. Then hope died,
and great rage filed his breast The
hand of every man seemed to be
against him. He clinched his teeth
and his hands and raved like a mad
man and started on a run of seven
miles down Broadway to kill the edii
tor.
His stomach was empty as pawned
wedding ring. His eyes were blood
Shot He ran blindly as a horse runs
from fire. In two miles hunger, rage
and exhaustion forced him to STOP He
sat down on curbstone until he had
recovered his breath. Then he stag
gered on By the time he reached the
newspaper Office his reason had return
ed. He had walked so long on the hard
pavement that the soles of his shoes
were worn through, and at every step
the balls of his feet touched the stones
His heart ached, his head ached, his
feet were bleeding, and he wanted to
h,1,sv hSc,I ~ ~
Hello" said the managing editor,
looking up from his desk at the pa
thetic figure standing before him.
you're the little chap who was here
yesterday, eh! Yes, yes. Wait a min
ute!'
He took the manuscript in his hand
as a practical gambler might take a
pack of cards. He glanced down each
page with what seemed incredible
swiftness to the palpitating Robinson.
Within two minutes he had taken in
all the beauty of imagery, all the grace
of expression, all the earmarks of con-
scientious effort. Then he looked up
at the pallid face beside him, the blood
shot eyes, the hard lines about the
tense mouth, and look Of deep ten
derness and compassion came into his
eyes as he said, gently as a woman:
MY dear boy, that is just the kind Of
stuff we want. If you have any more
of it, bring it along.''
Robinson gasped and turned away,
for the cisterns of his heart were be-
ginning to leak. And as he went the
editor looked around the corner Of his
desk. He saw the worn shoes, the tat
tered coat, and he shouted:
Come back, Robinson. You've for
gotten something" And he placed in
the young mans hand a small piece of
glazed paper.
Robinson reached the sidewalk in a
dream, but when he had pulled him
self together he looked at the slip of
paper and read the following words:
NEW YEARS DAY. JAN 1, 1s-.
Cashier, New York -:
Pay to George Robinson the sum of
so on account of sketch called "A Noun
tain Brook
Managing Editor
That night Robinson's supper con-
sisted of two pounds of fried ham, a
plateful of old fashioned John Brown
fried potatoes, half a pumpkin pie and
two cups of coffee. AS he sat back
In his chair and lit his cigar the con-
seriousness that it was New Years day
came to him in full force. He smiled
as he reflected that he had not killed
the editor. How bright and happy the
walters all seemed! The furnished ta-
beware glistened in the gaslight. The
world seemed very good place to live
In, after all. A peripatetic piano stop
ped in front of the restaurant. The
instrument was out Of tune, and the
tune was uneven, but no orchestra had
ever played such seraphic harmony as
the first selection, swat Till the Clouds
Roll By"