The Mankato free press. [volume] (Mankato, Blue Earth County, Minn.) 1879-1924, 1904-02-19

of the paper received an aQdln0n. one
night the editor found some barroom
loafers tormenting patriarchal old
man who had magnificent head and a
grand white beard. He had been
thrown out of a saloon, and he was
drunk with the drunkenness Of three
weeks steady pouring. He propped
himself against wall and reproved
his tormentors in Latin. 'Im walking
your way, Mr.. Fisbee," remarked the
journalist, hooking his arm into the old
mans. Suppose we leave our friends
here and go home"
Mr.. Fisbee was the one inhabitant OF
the town possessing an unknown past,
and a glamour of romance was thrown
about him by the gossips, who agreed
that there was a dark, portentous Sc
cret in his life, an opinion not too well
confirmed by the old mans appearance.
His fine eyes had a habit of wandering
to the horizon, and his expression was
mild, vague and sad, lost in dreams.
At the first glance one guessed that
his dreams would never be practicable
in their application, and some such i'm
preston of him was probably what
caused the editor of the Herald to nick
name him, in his own mind, ''the White
Knight
Mr.. Fisbee, coming to Plattville from
nobody knew where, had taught in the
high school for ten years, but he proved
quite unable to refrain from lecturing
to the dumfounded pupils on archa-
ology, neglecting more and more the
ordinary courses of instruction, grow
ing year by year more forgetful and
absent, lost in his few books and his
own reflections, until at last he had
been discharged for incompetency. The
dazed old man had no money and no
way to make any. One day he dropped
in at the hotel bar, where Wilkerson,
the professional drunkard, favored him
with his society. The old man under
stood. He knew 1t was the beginning
Of the end. He sold his books in order
to continue his credit at the Palace
bar, and once or twice, unable to pro-
coed to his own dwelling, spent the
night in a lumber yard, piloted thither
by the harder veteran Wilkerson.
The morning after the editor took
him home Fisbee appeared at the Her
aid office in a new hat and a decent
suit of black. He had received his sal
airy in advance, his books had been re-
purchased and he had become the re-
portorial staff Of the Carlow County
Herald; also he was to write various
treatises for the paper. For the first
few evenings when he started home
from the office his chief walked with
him, chatting cheerfully, until they
had passed the Palace bar. But Fis-
bees redemption was complete.
The editor of the Herald kept stead
lily at his work, and as time went on
the bitterness his predecessors swindle
had left in him passed away. But his
loneliness and sense of defeat grew
and deepened. When the vistas of the
world had opened to his first youth he
had not thought to spend his life in
such place as Plattville but he found
himself doing it, and it was no great
happiness to him that the Hon. Hedge
Holloway of Amo, whom the Herald's
opposition to McCune had sent to
Washington, came to depend on his in
fuence for denomination, nor did the
realization that the editor of the Car
low County Herald had come to be
McCune's successor as political dicta-
tor produce perceptbly enlivening eff
feet upon the young man. The years
drifted very slowly, and to him it seem
ed that they went by while he stood far
aside and could not even see them
move. He did not consider the life he
led an exciting one, but the other citi-
zens of Carlow did when he undertook
war against the White Caps, deni-
zens of Six Crossroads, seven miles
west of Plattville. The natives were
much more afraid of the White Caps
than he was. They knew more about
them and understood them better than
he did.
There was no thought of the people
of the Crossroads in his mind as he sat
on the snake fence staring at the little
smoky shadow dance on the white road
in the June sunshine. On the contrary.
that there had been a man in his class
at college whose ambition needed no
restraint, his promise was so great-in
the strong belief of the university, be-
lief he could not help knowing-and
that seven years to day from his COM
mencement this man was sitting on
fence rail in Indiana
nnuyn tho ,,il>o N h,o.r~xr 1890 ouo.,~
ing toward him, gray with dust, old
and frayed like the fat, shaggy gray
mare that drew it, her unchecked, de-
spondent head lowering before her,
while her incongruous tail waved in
cessantly, like the banner of storming
party. The editor did not hear the
flop Of the mares hoofs nor the sound
Of the wheels, so deep was his rev.
erie, till the vehicle was nearly oppo-
site him. The red faced and perspir-
ing driver drew rein, and the journal
list looked up and waved a long white
hand to him in greeting.
"Howdy' do, Mr.. Harkless? called
the man in the buggy. "Soakin' in the
weather. He spoke in shouts, though
neither was hard of hearing.
eyes, just soaking" answered Hank
less. Its such gypsy day. How is
Mr. Bowlder?"
I'm givin' good satisfaction, thank
you, and all at home. She's in town.
"Give Mrs. Bowlder my regards
said the journalist, comprehending the
| symbolism. How is HartleyY
The farmers honest face shaded over
| for a second. Hes ben steady ever
sence the night you brought him home,
six weeks straight. Pm kind of both
cred about tomorrow-he wants to come