The Opelousas courier., 1903-05-02
THE HERMIT OF THE
FLATS.
HERE he lived amid the teem-
ing humanity Of the great and

pOpulouS city,, with noise
and hustle of traffic and hum
of human voices always buzzing
through his solitude, yet always alone
and lonely, a hermit Of the fats. The
men of his acquaintance spoke to him
or nodded cheerily atfoss the res
taurant tables, but he was conscious
of divergent interests, so he never
encouraged their friendly advances,
but went his own 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 for a luckier man.
Gradually his solitude hardened him,
and the hardening process crept into
his stories, which took a pessinistic
turn. The editors complained because
his otherwise strong, viTile work, vas
too sombre; others said 1t lacked natur-
alness and humanity, but whatever the
fault was, Haswell began to realize
that something was seriously amiss.
go out among the people and get
freshened up" said his friend Boynton,
who had always liked HaswelTs style
of work, "and let yourself live. Then
write what you have learned from
them"
But Haswell declined to take his ad.
vice, saying that the vulgar horde re-
PEELED him, and he preferred to write In
his own way or not at all, so his stories
grew less and less successful, and Has
wells temper soured proportionate1y.
1t was a bitter midwinter night. The
icy wind whistled shrilly through the
alleys and filtered in between the
chinks of Haswelrs windows, rafting
the easements ~unpleasantly. Haswell
was out of temper with his work and
the exaeting editors, who had returned
a batch of his stories without so much
as a rejection slip. He rose, plugged
the easements, and drew his machine
closer to the glowing hearth, and be-
gan to revise the rejected copy, when
a timid knock at his door interrupted
his thoughts.
A gust of chilly air rushed up from
the open vestibule below as he threw
back the hall door, revealing the pres
nee of a 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 was very young and dark
and unnaturally thin.
what do you want here?' Haswell
demanded sharply.
"Do MI. Severano live here?' asked
a very soft, childlike voice.
mo, he DOESN'T" Haswell answered
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, alphabetically. HE have
promised to let me play for him. I
need work very bad, Mister"
"Oh, I dare say! Some begging game,
Of course. Well, you won't make any
thing here, I 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're not more than a childr'
II am sixteen, Mister" the soft, ap-
pealing voice answered.
"WelI, you're mans 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 uncomfortable.
He opened the door once more, and
leaning over the banisters, called down
to him: "Come up" he said rather
grudgingly; II may be able to help you
find your friend"
The boy battered softly up the steps.
Once within the brightly lighted room
his poverty and WEAKNESS became pain
fully apparent; his trousers and coat
were frayed and ragged, and his big,
loose shoes were full of gaping holes.
Haswell took the old violin from his
numb grasp and babe him throw off
his coat, which he did fumbingly, for
his hands were stiff and blue with
cold. His trousers were wet to the
knees, and the melting snow oozed
steadily from the broken toes of his
shoes. Haswell stared at his sad
figure helplessly.
Where do you i've" he demanded
abruptly.
I'm Greenwich street, Mister"
4Down town. / presume. Must you
so home fo-night?'
The boy shrugged his shoulders with
a gently ~depreciating smile. Nobody
don't care II I DON'T he answered.
Then you had better stay here. You
can sleep on the couch, yonder, when
you're all cleaned up. You are wiring
ing wet and cold as ice. Tell you what,
III run a tubful of warm water, and
you can take your bath while I hunt up
some dry things. After that you can
tell me about yourself
When the strange little figure
emerged from the bathroom arrayed in
Haswells spacious paiamas, with his
black. silken thatch washed and curl
ing crispIy all around his pale face.
HaswelI noticed that his delicate, re-
fined beauty was quite extraordinary
and altogether irreeoncilable with his
rags and misery. Haswell poured out
the coffee he had stepped over his
alcohol lamp, and set before his guest
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