Newport daily independent., 1903-03-28
THE HERMIT
 OF THE FLATS

u humanity of the great and populous city, with the noise and hustle of traf- fic and hum of human voices always buzzing through his solitude, yet al- ways alone and lonely, a hermit of the flats. The men of his acquaintance spoke to him or nodded cheerily across the restaurant tables, but he was conscious of divergent interests, so he never encouraged their friendly advances, but went on his way in moody silence. Of women he never thought since the death of his hopes seven years before, when the girl of his choice had rejected him f%r a luckier man. Gradually his solitude hardened him, and the hardening process crept into his stories, which took a pessimistic turn. The editors complained because his otherwise strong, virile work, was too somber; others said it lacked naturalness and humanity. but whatever the fault was, Haswell began to realize that something was seriously amiss.
 "Go out among the people and get freshencd up,' said his friend Boyn- ton, who had always liked HaswelPs style of work, "and let yourself live. Then write what you have learned from them"
 But Haswell declined to take his advice, saying that the vulgar horde repelled him, and he preferred to write in his own way or not at all, so hiS stories grew less and less success l,land Haswell's temper soured pro- portonately.
 Itlwas bitter midwinter night. The iqy wind Vhistled shrilly through hthe alleys and filtered in between the cninks of +aswell's wipdows, rattling the easements mpleasarSly. Has well was out of temper witNhis work and the exacting editors, Nho had returned a batch of his stories with out so much as rejection slip. He rose, plugged the easements, and drew his machine closer to the glow ing hearth, and began to revise the rejected copy, when timid knock st his door interrupted his thoughts.
 A gust of chilly air rushed up from the open yestibule below as he threw back the hall door, revealing the presence of stranger with an awkwardly wrapped parcel in his arms. A thin fall of snow hid the threadbareness of his ill-ftting coat, and the dropping rim of his battered hat obscured his face, which wasvery young and dark and unnaturally thin.
 "What do you want here?' Haswell demanded, sharply.
 Do Mr. Severano live here?" asked very soft, ehildlike voice.
 No, he doesn't," Haswell an swcred brusquely. "There are no Italians in this apartment house. You had better get out before you're put out"
 He told my friend he live here, the boy said, apologetically. "He have promised to let me play for him. I need work very bad, mister"
 "Oh, I dare say! Some begging game, of course. We'll, you won't make anything here, can tell you" Then for the first time he saw the violin under the boys ragged arm. Do you play that thing?" he asked, curiously. "You'Ie not more than childm
 q ar--fB, mister the soft, ap- pealinS voice answered.
 Well, you're man $ not here" Has well retorted, briefly, closing the door and going back to his cheerful hearth. But that last glimpse of the pathetic little face made him uncom- fortable. He opened the door once more, and leaning over the banisters, called down to him. Come up," he said, rather grudgingly, T may be able to help you find your friend"
 The boy battered softly up the steps. Once within the brightly light ed room his poverty and weariness became painfully apparent; his trous- CTS and coat were frayed and ragged, and his ibig loose shoes were full of gaping holes Haswell took the cld violin fr4m his numb grasp and bade him thr off his coat. which he did