The Kalispell bee. [volume] (Kalispell, Mont.) 1900-192?, 1903-07-07

eye my task will be easier. Come to
think of it, | know just where your
cX-cabin is, and I've seen you yourself
leaning upon your arms across the
window sill, like the photograph pre-
ciscly. SO you're gone! If that were
not so, should say you ought to have
been gone long ago, because You were
so dirty and horrid looking with that
scarecrow face Old and pale and grim.
But since you really are dead feel
sorry for you. Yet why? You did no
body any good while you We're alive.
Why should you have been let stay so
long?
God forgive me. What good does
Ned Ball do anybody? Ned. it would
kill me If you We're to die. even though
know you would be out of pain. even
though | can never hope to see you
again It's brute selfshness in me to
want to hold you here know; but,
dear, think it would really kill me
to have you die. | dream Of you still;
last night again. DO you know what
| they are. sweetheart? Dream kisses
| from lips of living loved ones whose
| faces we may behold never more on
this earth. Oh. my love. my own true
| love.
One thing more. particularly as you
| will never see this, and then l turn to
my typewriter, for | know what I'm
going to say about my old window
man now. Tim Greene got his revenge
| on me for not marrying him-at least
his wife did. He married Milkman
Boss daughter You never knew Ka-
tie Boss, but it doesn't matter. After
Tins father died it was found he was
much richer than was supposed. Tim
was left mt least half Il millionaire
| His native cunning did much for him.
and luck did more to make him very
rich, and now his wife is on the ragged
edge of high life. She has to be very
careful and exclusive.
Two weeks ago her sister ran away
and married the Greencs milkman-a
case of heredity, suppose. 1t made a
great stir. The managing editor sent
me to ascertain the state of Mrs.
Greene's feelings and do them up for
print, She babe her lackey spurn me
from the door-she. the girl who used
to carry milk to our Unconstitutional |
sent up my card with my name en-
gravcd in plain letters. She must have
known it, but she stood at the head of
the grand staircase and shouted down,
SO would be sure to hear:
"Jawkin, let none of them low bred
reporters in
really don't think l cared much.
Who am l. indeed? am only a poor
newspaper hack | must be at beck
and call for any work that comes up.
get very little money, but | probably
get as much rs I'm worth. If | We're
happy or had any hope, might write
better. could write words that would
touch the hearts of men and women
for know human life as only doctors
and newspaper people can know IT.
But what's the good? My heart is just
broken. that's all.
Now, my old Dick Deadeye. here's al
you. One more scribble to get good
ready, then my type keys will begin tC
click.
En- what's this? The pencil in my
: fingers wrote it its own self:
Il THE window SILL"
: never wrote this out Of my head.
swear l did not. That's where ole
Watkin was found dead, leaning ovel
l. the window SILL It's queer. l suppos,
Y that's the unconscious cerebration the,
e. talk Of. though l never knew it actet
70 like that. 1t reminds me Of somethin,
e more | will write to Ned In this lette
!! he Is never to see. l can't do up Dicl