The Birmingham age-herald., 1902-08-24


 solid about him, for all his eccentricites- could be relied upon. Had been with the house there since a boy of twelye-took him for the fathers sake; had never missed a days time in any line of work that ever had been given in his charge was weakly-looking, too. Had worked his way from the cellar up-from the least pay to the highest-had saved enough to buy and pay for comfortable house for his mother and himself, and, still a lad, maintained the expense or companion, attendant and maid-serVant for the mother. Yet, with all this burden on his shoulders, the boy had worried through some way. with a jolly smile and a good word for every one. A boy, sir" the enthusiastic senior concluded a boy. sir. that never was a boy, ana never had taste of genuine boyhood III his lifs-nor more than he ever took taste of whiskey, and you couldn't get that in him with a funnell'
 At this juncture Mr. Clark himself ap- peared, and in particularly happy frame of mind. For an hour the de- lighted senior and myself sat laughing at the fellows quaint conceits and witty sayings, the conversation at last break ing up with an abrupt proposition from MT. Clark that l remain in the city oyer night and accompany him to the theatre, an invitation l rather eagerly accepted. MT. Clark. thanking me, and pivoting himself around on his high stool, with mechanical Good afternoon,a was at once submerged in his books while the , senior, following me out and stepping into a carriage that stood waiting for him at the curb, waived me adieu, and was driven away. 1 turned my steps up street but remembering that my friend | had fixed no place to meet me in the evening, l stepped back into the store room and again pushed open the glass door of the office.
 MT Clark still sat on the high stool at lis desk, his back toward the door, and his ledger spread out before him. MT. Clarki' l called.
 He made no answer.
 MT. Clarkew l called again, in an ele- vated key.
 He did not stir.
 I paused a moment, then went over to him, letting my hand drop lightly on his arm.
 Still no response. I only felt the shoulder heave, as with a long drawn quavering sigh, then heard the regular though labored breathing of a weary man that slept
 l had not the heart to waken him; but lifting the still moistened pen from his unconscious fingers, l wrote where I might be found at eight that evening, folded and addressed the note, and, laying 1t on the open page before him, turned quietly away.
 Poor mani'' unused, compassionately, with touch of youthful sentiment af- fecting me.-"Poor man! Working him self into his very grave, and with never a sigh or murmur of complaint-worn and weighed down with the burden of his work, and yet with a nobleness of spirit and resolve that still conceals behind | glad smiles and laughing words the cares | that lie so heavily upon him! T1a aff lrro Iao evening came; and, as promptly as my note requested, the jovial MT. Clark ap- peared laughing heartily, as he walked | off down the street. at my explanation of the reason I had written my desires in- stead of verbally addressing him; and laughing still louder when 1 told him of my fears that he was overworking him. self.
 "Oh, no, my friend" he answered, gayly; there's no occasion for anxiety on 1 that aecount.-But the fact is, old man." | he went on, half apologetically, the fact | is, I haven't been so over worked of late, as over-wakeful. There's something in the night, l think. that does 1t. Do you know that the knight Is great mystery to me-a great mystery! And 1t seems to be growing on me all the time. There's the trouble. The night to me is like some vast, incomprehensible being. When write the name night 1 instinctively write it with a capital. And l like my nights deep, and dark and swarthy, don t you know. Now some like clear and starry nights, but they're too pale for me-too weak and fragile altogetherl They're popular with the masses, of course, these blue-eyed, golden-haired moonlight n-the-lake' nights but someway, 1 don't stand in with them. My fayorite night is the pronounced bru- nette-the darker the better Tonight Is | of Iii hnf a and more like it all the time If it were not for depriving you of the theatre, I'd rather just drift off now in the deepening gloom till swallowed up in it-lost utterly. Come with me, anyhow.'
 "Gladly," I answered, catching some thing of his own enthusiasm "I myself prefer 1t to the play"
 T heartily congratulate you on your taste" he said, diving violently for my hand and wringing it. "Oh, it's going to be grimly glorious!-a depth of dark ness one can wade out into, and knead 1t in his hands like doughi'' And he laughed, himself, at this grotesque con ceit.
 And so we walked-for hours. Our talk-or, rather, my friends talk-lulled and soothed at last into a calmer flow, almost solemn in it's tone. and yet fretted with an occasional wildness of utterance and expression.
 | Half consciously 1 had been led by my | companion, who for an hour had been
 drawing closer to me as we walked. His
 arm, thrust through my own, clung all
 most affectionately. We were now in
 some strange suburb of the city, evi-
 dently. too, in a low quarter, for from
 the windows of such business rooms and shops as bore any evidence of re3pecta- biiity the lights had been turned out and , the doors locked for the night. Only a , grusome green light was burning in a , little drugstore just opposite, while al . our left, as we turned the corner, a tumble-down saloon sent out upon the
 night a mingled sound of clicking bill , iard- balls, discordant voices the harsh , CT raspings of violin, together with tho sullen plunkings of a banjo.
 "I must leave you here for a minute, said my friend. abruptly breaking a lont silence. and loosening my arm. 'Th,
 druggist over there is a patron of ou f house, and am reminded of a little bus , mess have with him. He is about clos I ing too, and I'll see him now, as I ma! not be down this way again soon No l. you wait here for me-right here" an, , l he playfully but firmly pushed me bacl
 ran across the street, and entered thu store Through the open door I saw hin shake hands with the man that stood be 3 hind the counter. and stand talking il
 the same position for some mnutes-boti still clasping hands as t seemed; but a: r I mechanically bent with closer scrutiny r the druggist seemed to be examining tn, ? hand of Mir. Clark and working it. as 3 though picking at a splinter in the palm
 T could not quite determine what was heinz done for a glass showcase blurred