Okolona messenger. (Okolona, Miss.) 1900-current, 1903-05-27
The Shadow
of HdppineSS
BY IRVING B~AoHELLER.


THAT little inn was somewhere on
the road from New Amsterdam
to New YOrk-a halfway house be-
tween now and antiquity. A part
was old and a part new, and it was
all very shabby and simple and genu-
inc. Its day began at dusk and its
noon was midnight. Then the red
door of Morcho was n of the gates
Of the city opening on a strange and
merry way Of life. They called it
the Roost because it was inhabited
chiefly by the nightfolk. A tall man
could almost touch its " and had
to pay a toll of reverence at its door
if he entered. Once in, he forgot all
care save that of stepping lightly
lest it fall upon him. The ROost 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 lanked 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. rs>
Morcho himself was a man worth
knowing. He 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 under 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 a pleasure, with all its ac-
c~essories, full of peril. There was in
it too much Of the spice of life and
the cuisine. If one were his friend,
Morcho came and 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
day!" Indeed, that was the conclu-
sion of every tale he told and,
make no doubt, of every dream he
dreamed. He came to misery in due
time, as did many who sat with him
there in the little inn, but he had to
be merry, 10 give the warm heart to
everyone, to eat when he had no
hunger, to drink when he had nc
thirst. Otherwise he would not have
been Morcho and some who came
there would have sought a host more
to their liking. 1t was as if he said;
"Is 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 it's tricks" He
had no thought of the evil in it all
He was born a Castilian peasant and
had never heard any preaching about
temperance. and thinking was out OF
his line. ! knew he had a heart OF
lead some days, but wen then the
glad hand, the toast of Happy day.
the merry tale, were not withheld.
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 a rough whisper and
trembled with weakness. l could see
that tne man was dying, but the inr
was already dead. A lonely guest sal
near me and Morcho was trying hard
to keep his feet and tell a story. He
sank into a chair at the end of it and
soon fell nOdding. The coy rooms
were empty. The tables were neatly
spread, but where were the merry
feasters, the song and laughter thai
rang to the roof in other days?
"Marcho,'' said the man who sat by
him, lifting his glass, where are the
happy days?"
"Madre de dos" he whispered
Here's happy dayl" and then HI
took a sip out of a glass that haC
3 been waiting for him.
you're sick, M~orcho," said tbs
J man, drinking. you'd better go of
( somewhere and take a rest" Their
he rose and paid the waiter and wen
away.
+, Morcho had not seemed to hear hin
and shortly came v e to me, rubbing
his hands. He was bracing himsel
for the task before him and hi
smile came hard. I was an old Gus
= toner and he must do his best tt
please me.
s II not sick-no-o-o-ol" he whis
pered. Il be well purity quick"
He would have the waiter bring