The Savannah morning news., 1903-01-04
BY BOOTH HARRINGTON.

over, a second. Hes ben steady ever
sence the night you brought him out
home: six weeks straight. I'm kind of
bothered about to-morrow-it's show
| day and he wants to come in town
| with us, and seems if hadn't any call
to say no. l reckon he'll have to take
! his chances-and us too" He raised
! the reins and Clucked to the gray
| mare: We'll she'll be mad I amt
| there long ago. Ride in with me?"
| NO, I thank you. III walk in for
| the sake of my appetite"
| Wouldn't encourage it too much
| Twin at the Palace Hotel" observed
! Bowlder. Sorry ye won't ride" He
! gathered the loose ends of the reins in
| his hands, leaned far over the dash
! board and struck the mare a hearty
| thwack; the tattered banner of tail
| jerked Indignantly, but she consented
| to move down the road. Bowlder thrust
| his big head through the sun-curtain
! behind him and continued the CONVEX
! sation: See the White-Caps amt got
| ye vet"
! mo. not yet" Harkless laughed.
| Reckon the boys 'druther ye stayed
! in town after dark" the other called
! back; then, as the mare stumbled into
| "A trot, well. come out and see us
! if ye kin spare time from the jedges"
! Inc latter clause seemed 10 De an al
| terthought intended with humor. for
| Bowlder accompanied it with the loud
| laughter of sylvan timidity, risking a
! joke. Harkless nodded without the
! least apprehension of his meaning, and
waved farewell as Bowlder finally
! turned his attention TO the mare. When
! the flop, flop of her hoofs had died out,
the journalist realized that the day
was silent no longer; it was verging
! into evening.
He dropped from the fence and turn
ed his face toward town and supper.
| He felt the light and life about him.
| heard the CHATTER Of the blackbirdS
| above him. heard the homing bees
hum by, and saw the vista of white
| road and level landscape, framed on
| two sides by the branches of the grove
vista of infinitely stretching fields
| of green, lined here and there with
woodlands and fiat to the horizon line,
| the village lying in their lap. No roll
| of meadow. no rise of pasture land.
relieved their serenity nor shouldered
! up from them to be called a hill. A sec
| ond great flock of blackbirds was set
! Ting down over the Plattville naples.
! As they hung in the fair dome of the
! sky below the few white clouds, ii oc-
! CURED to Harkless that some supping
| god had inadvertently peppered his
custard, and now inverted and emptied
! his gigantic blue dish upon the earth,
| the innumerable little black dots
| seeming to poise for moment. then
| floating slowly down from the nights.
| a farm-nell rang in the distance, a
| tinkling coming small and mellow from
far away. and at the lonesomeness of
| that sound he heaved a long, mourn
! full sigh. The next instant he broke
| into laughter. for another bell rang
over the fields. the court house bell in
| the Square. The first four strokes We're
! given with mechanical regularity, the
| pride of the custodian who operated
/; the bell being 10 produce the effect of
! a clock-v ork bell such as he had once
| heard in the court house at Rouen:
but the fifth and sixth strokes were
| hating achievements as after
! O'Clock. he often lost count in the
strain of the effort for precise imta-
| ton. There was a pause after the
! sixth, then a dubious and reluctant
| stroke-seVen-a longer pause, follow
ed by a final ring with desperate de-
cision-eight!. Harkless looked at his
watch; it was twenty minutes of six.
AS he crossed the court house ward
to the Palace Hotel. he stopped to ex-
! change word with the beH-ringer,
! who, seated on the steps, was hopping
his brow with an air of hard-earned
satisfa ction.
"Good-evening, Schofields." he said
You came in strong on the last
| stroke. tonight"
What We need here" responded the
| bell-ringer, lis more public-spirited
men. 1 amt kickin' on you, Mr..
| Harkless, no sir: but we want more
men like they got in Rouen: we want
| men thatll git Main street paved with
| block or asphalt: men that'll put in
| factories. men that'u act and not set
| around like that ole focl Martin and
| laugh and polly-woggle and make fun
| of public sperrit, day in and day out.
l reckon I do my best for the city"
"Oh, nobody minds Tom Martin" an
swered HAIRLESS. IT'S only half the
| time he means anything by what he
| saws"
That's jest what / hate about him."
| returned the bell-ringer in n tone of
| high complaint: you can't never tell
what half it is. Look at him now!"
| Over in front of the hotel Martin was
standing, talking to the row of coat
| less loungers who sat with their chairs
tilted back against the props of the
wooden awning that projected over the
| sidewalk. Their faces were turned to-
| ward the courthouse, and even those
lost in meditative whiting had look
ed up to laugh. Martin, his hands in
the pockets of his alpaca coat his rus
| ty silk hat tilted forward till the wide
brim rested almost on the bridge of
his nose. was addressing them in his
| one-keyed voice, the melancholy whine
| of which, though not the words, pepe-
trated to the court house steps.
The ell-ringer. whose name was