The Bamberg herald. [volume] (Bamberg, S.C.) 1891-1972, 1903-03-19
~ HERE he lived amid the term-
ing humanity of the great and

populous city, with the noise
and hustle of traffic and hum
OF human voices always buzz;ng
through his solitude, yet always aicnc
ard lonely, a hermit of the flats. The
men Of his acquaintance spoke to him
or nodded checrily across the res
taurant tables, but he, WAS conscious
Of divergent interests, so he never
encouraged their friendly advances,
Dut 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 fer lUckier man.
Gradually his solitude hardened him,
and the hardening process crept into
his stories, which took 4 pess:miStic
turn. The editors complained because
his otherwise strong, vir.le work, was
too sombre; others said it lacked natur-
alncss and humanity, but whatever the
fault was, Haswell began to realize
that something was seriously amiss.
"Go out among the people and get
frcshcned up said his friend Boynton,
who had always liked uaswell's 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 ne preferred to write in
his own way OF not at all, so his stories
grew less and less successful, and Has
wells temper soureG proportionately.
It was bitter midwinter night. The
icy wind whistled shrilly through the
alleys and filtered in between the
chnks Of Haswclls windows, rattlins
the easements unpicasaEtly. Haswell
was out of temper with his work and
the exacting editors, who had returned
q batch Of his stories without so much
as 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
q tim;d 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
cnca CT 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 oDscurcd his
face, which was very young and dark
and unnaturallv thin.
"What do you want here?" Haswell
demanded sharply.
"Do Mr.. Severano live hero?" asked
a vc:y soft, childlike voice.
"Nc, he doesn't" Haswell answered
brusGuely. 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. 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 curlously.
you're not more than a chlld!'
81 am sixteen, Mister" the soft, ap-
pealing voice answered.
"Well, you're mans not here" Has
we'll 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 Danisters, called down
to him: "Come up," lie said rather
grudgingly, II may be able to help you
find your friend"
The boy pattered softly up the steps
Once within the brightly lighted room
his poverty and dweG-incss 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 bade him throw off
his coat, which he did fumbingly, for
his hands We're 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 live" he demanded
abruptly.
"In Greenwich street, Mister"
"Down town, presume. Must you
80 home to-nisht:"
The boy shrugged his shoulders with
a gently depreciating smile. ''Nobody
don't care if 1 don't" he answered.
"Then you had better stay here. 1or
can sleep on the couch, yonder, wher
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 hunt ur
some dry things. After that you cal
tell me about yourself"
When the strange little figure
emerged from the bathroom arrayed il
Haswell's spacious pajamas, with his
black, silken thatch washed and curl
ing crisply all around his pale face
Haswell noticed that his delicate, re
fined beauty was quite extraordinary
and altogether irreconcilable with his
rags and misery. Haswell poured ou
the coffee he had stepped over hi:
alcohol lamp. and set before his CUES
a plate of crackers and cheese Whicl
he bade him eat, while he finished his
work, but although the host made
credtable feint of writing, he did no
for an instant take his eyes from the
beautiful, pallid face which the mel
low freight threw into sharp relief
Why did that stranger child interes
him 50 overwhelmingly? he asked him
self grimly; was it because of the pos
sible story it held, or had he touched
the glossed-over springs Of human
sympathy which had lain dormant 81
long under the stolid Indifference tha
cloakcd the hermit OF the flats?