The San Francisco call., 1904-02-14


why, what's the matter. Tom?
You're not going to be sick? You look
like the devil and ALL"
I'm all right, never fear." Tom
laughed, evading the others eye. I'm
going out in the country on some busi-
ness, and dare say shall not be back
for couple Of days; it will be all up
and down the country He set down a
travelling-bag he was carrying, and
offered the other his hand "Good-by.''
Cant 1 go for you? You don't look
able"
mo, no. It's something I'll have to
attend to myself
All, 1 suppose" said Crailey, gently,
Il suppose it's important, and you
couldn't trust me to handle it. Well
God knows you're right! I've shown
you often enough how incompetent
am to do anything but write jingles!''
you do some more of them-without
the whisky, Crailey. They're worth
more than all the lawing Gray &
Vanrevel have ever done or ever will
do. Good-by-and be kind to yourself"
He descended to the first landing,
and then, "Oh Crailey," he called, with
the air of having forgotten something
he had meant to say.
Yes, Tom?'
This morning at the postoffice I
found letter addressed to me.
opened 1t and" He hesitated, and un-
easily shifted his weight from one foot
to the other, with feeble, deprecatory
la% %gh.
Yes, what Of it?"
"Well--there seemed to be mistake.
I think it must have been meant for
you. Somehow, she-she's picked up
good many wrong impressions, and,
Lord knows how, but she's mixed our
names up and-and I've left the letter
for you. It's on my table"
He turned and calling a final good
by over his shoulder, went clattering
noisily down TO the street and van
ished from Crailey's sight.
Noon found Tom far out on the Ma
tional Road, creaking along over the
yellow dust in a light wagon, between
bordering forests that smelt spicily of
wet underbrush and May apples and,
here and there, when they would
emerge from the woods to cleared fields,
literally outlined by long snake fences
of black walnut, the steady, jog-trot-
ting old horse lifted his head and looked
interested in the world, but Tom never
did either. Habitually upright, walk
ing or sitting, straight, keen, and alert.
that days sun saw him drearily
hunched over, mile after mile, his fore
head laced with lines of pain. He
stopped at every farm house and cabin,
\
the fields, hailed them from the road,
or hitched his horse to the fence and
crossed the soft burrows to talk with
them. At such times he stood erect
again, and spoke stirringly, finding
eager listeners. There was one ques-
ton they asked him over and over:
But are you. sure the call will
come?'
"As sure as that we stand here; and
it will come before the week is out. We
must be ready!"
Often, when he left them, they would
turn from the work in, hand, leaving it
as 1t was, to lie unfinished in the fields,
and make their way slowly and
thoughtfully to their homes, while Tom
climbed into his creaking little wagon
once more, only to fall into the same
dull, hunched-over attitude. He had
many things to think out before he
faced Rouen and Crailey Gray again.
and more to fight through to the end
with himself. Three days he took for 1t,
three days driving through the soft
May weather behind the kind old jog
trotting horse; three days on the road,
from farm house to farm house and
from field to field, from cabin of the
woods to cabin in the clearing. Toss
ing unhappily at night. he lay sleepless
till dawn, though not because of the
hard beds; and when daylight came,
journeyed steadily on again, over the
vagabond little hills that had gypsied 1t
so far into the prairie-land in their
wanderings from their range on the
Ohio, and. passing the hills, went on
through the fiat forest land, always
hunched over dismally in the creaking
wagon.
But on the evening of the third day
he drove into town, with the stoop out
of his shoulders and the luster back in
his eyes. He was haggard, gray, dusty,
but he had solved his puzzle, and one
thing was clear in his mind as the
thing that he would do. He patted the
old horse hearty farewell as he left
him with the liveryman from whom he
had hired him, and strode up Main
street with the air of a man who is
going somewhere. 1t was late, but
there were more lights than usual in
the windows and more people on the
streets. Boys ran shouting while, here
and there, knots of men argued loudly,
and in front of the little corner drug
store q noisily talkative, widely ges-
ticulative crowd of fifty Or more had
gathered. An old man, a cobbler, who
had left leg at Tippecanoe and re-
placed 1t with a wooden one, chastely
decorated with designs Of his own carv-
ing, came stumping excitedly down the
middle of the street, where he walked
for fear of the cracks in the wooden
pavement. which were dangerous to his
art deg when he came from the Rouen
House bar as on the present occasion
He hailed Tom by name.
You're the lad, Tom vanrevel,' he
shouted. You're the man to lead the