Manchester Democrat. [volume] (Manchester, Iowa) 1875-1930, 1902-07-23

lie QUUTOQCnC(L IllG QuLOCTuL.
vene still another week before he would
be paid, and in his blissful ignorance
he walked up Broadway, elate, impas-
stoned. The sidewalk was soft as vel
vet to his feet.
o youth, luminous with promise,
bright with the rosy hue of expectan-
cy!
Again Robinson went supperless to
bed. But what small matter that
seemed to him! Tomorrow his sketch
would be in the greatest paper in Amer
lea. And he fell asleep and dreamed
of beefsteak and onions and the blue
eyed Nellie. In the morning he was SO
eager to get down stairs that he scarce
ly waited to tie his shoestrings. In his
hurry and excitement he gave his last
nickel to the newsboy and forgot the
change. He opened the paper with
shaking hands and glanced down the
first page. There was some unimpor-
tant matter about q famine in India
which had killed a thousand men, a
| stabbing ARRAY in Philadelphia in
which man was horribly mutilated
and seven children left fatherless, q
fire in Pittsburg which had killed six
teen girls, but his story was not therel
He looked over the editorial page.
where the great editor had launched
his keenest invectives against munich
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 filled his breast. The
hand of every man seemed to be
against him. He clinched his teeth
and his hands and raved like mad
man and started on run of seven
miles down Broadway to kill the edi
tor.
| His stomach was empty as pawned
wedding ring. His eyes were blood
shot lie 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
Il
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
We're worn through, and at every steT
the balls of his feet touched the stones
His heart ached, his head ached, his
feet We're bleeding, and he wanted t.
i Inn Ia 10, II to- 1T ~ Sc, Inn
"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 min
ute"
He took the manuscript in his hand
as practical gambler might take q
pack Of cards. He glanced down eact
page with what seemed incredible
swiftness to the palpita.ing 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 ur
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 MS he said, gently as n woman:
"My dear boy, that is just the kind OF
stuff we want. If you have any more
of 1t, br:lg 1t 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.