Martinsburg herald. [volume] (Martinsburg, W. Va.) 1881-1920, 1903-04-11
II he Shadow
OF Hopp ness
BY IRVING ~BaoHELLER.



THA1 little inn was somewhere on
tine road from New Amsterdam
10 New York halfway house be-
tween now and antiquity. a part
Was old ana q part new, and it was
salI very shabby md sin q ana gentl-
ine. IT'S day began al d9sk and its
moor Was midn slit. Then the red
door 81 Moreno was one of the gates
Of the city opening on q strange and
merry way OF lac. They called it
the Roost because it was inhabited
chiefly IS the nightfol<. A tail man
could almost touch it's caves and had
to pay q toll OF reverence at It's door
III he entered. Once ID, he forgot all
care save That Of stepping lightly
lest il fall upon him. The Htoost had
grown, wing by wing, until it covered
half the short block, and now under
its roof were unexpected caverns far
back Of the red door at the sidewalk.
A big church flansed the little inn
and buried it under fathoms Of gloom
as the sun came up. When it was
nearing noon, Of a bright day, a great
lever Of sunlight thrust itself in
where the Two buildings came close
together behind Morcho's, and lifted
on the bulk of shadow until it was
gone.
Morcho himself was a man worth
Knowing. lie was an item of ex-
pense in the moral economy of the
world, but the lesson of his life, if
one were able to make it clear, would
have some profit in it. He was a
brown little Spaniard who knew how
TO cook and loved eating and drink
ing and good companionship. One
never sat unGer the barren beams of
the Roost and felt his blood warming
and the gloom going out Of his soul,
in the smile Of Morcho, without some
thankfulness for the like of him. But
that was q pleasure, with all it's ac-
eessories, full of peril. There was in
it too much OF the spice of life and
the cuisine. IL one Were bis friend,
Morcho came ana served him with
his own hand or sat beside him and
told stories and at the end of each
lifted his glass and said: Happy
dayi" Indeed, that was the couclu-
sion Of every tale he told and, /
make no doubt, Of every dream he
dreamed, lie came to misery in due
time, as did many who sat with him
there in the little inn, but lie had to
be merry, TO give the warm heart 10
everyone, t eat when he had no
hunger, to drink when he had no
thirst. Otherwise he would not have
been Morcho and some who came
there would have sought a host more
10 their liking. 1t was as if he said:
as your heart heavy, my friend? !
have a merry little monkey of a SOU
here in this body, and I'm going to
show you some Of its tricks" He
had no thought of the evil in il all.
He was born a Castilian peasant and
had never heard any preaching about
temperance, and thinking was out Of
his line. l knew the had a heart Of
lead some days, but even then the
glad hand, she toast of Happy day."
the merry tale, were not withheld.
J had been out of New York a year
and, returning one summer night,
strolled TO the little inn for supper.
Mine host had grown thin and pale.
he spoke in q rough whisper and
grembled with weakness. / could see
that the man was dying, but the inn
was already dead. A lonely guest sat
near me and Morcho was trying hard
to keep his feet and tell a story. He
sank into O chair at the end Of it and
5000 tell nodding. The coy rooms
were empty. THE tables were neatly
spread, but where were the merry
feasters, the song ard laughter that
rang to the roof in other days?
~2tarcho," said the man who sat by
him, biting his glass, "where are the
happy days2'
"Madre de Dies" he whispered.
"Here's happy day!" and then he
took a sip out Of a glass that had
been waiting for him.
aYoa're sick, Morcho," said the
man, drinking. you'd better go off
somewhere and take a rest" Then
az s and paid the waiter apd went
away.
Moreho had not seemed TO hear him
ana shortly came over 10 me, rubbing
his hands. lie was bracing himself
for the task before him and his
emile came hard. ( was an old Gus
4omer and he must do his best to
please me.
II not sick-no-o-o-ol" he wills
sered. Il be wen purity quick"
He would have the waiter bring