Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1904-07-29

place in life could atone In part for
what I'd done. Do you remember that
day, Georgef"
George Buckley started, raised his
eyes from the floor in sharp stare at
the haggard face before him and said:
Eyes, sir, / remember that day."
"Well, I couldn't git away from the
idea. AS I say, it was the fust bit OF
light I'd had. The following winter
you remember my proposal. Somehow
was even then afeard you'd refuse,
but you went off to school. An then
the weight and bitterness Of my heart
seemed to lessen, for every report l had
was glorious. You stood head; you
made the best speeches; you had the
most friends among teachers an pupils.
Oh, George, George, you don't know
what it meant to me; you seemed to be
totin' me out of rushin' rivera river
rushin' toward hell! Then you know
about the job give you here artery
graduated; every dollar you laid up an
properly invested was proof to me that
God had heard my long prayer an was
answerin' 1t in his own way. was
putin into life q man fer one had
tuck out. Only one hitch occurred, an
that was when they threatened yore pa
with arrest fer pennin' up them hogs.
Then you got desperate an started IN TO
drinkin'. But we squashed that, an 1t
went on smooth again till this-this
late matter. And now-oh, George, I'm
afeard-I'm afeard the Lord or the
devil, or both combined, have been
leadin' me through all this road O
promise Jest In order to let me fall the
harder. I've come here tonight to pray
to you-yes, to you-to save me. If you
20 down, do too. Now you see what
it all meant an what it means to me.
I'm in yore hands, my boy. As Gods
agent, you hold me in the palm o yore
hand"
The old mans voice broke. BE made
an effort to say something more, but
choked up, and, with his gaze on the
ragged rug in front Of him, he sat quite
motionless except for his heaving
shoulders. George Buckley bent for
ward, his hands tightly clasping each
other. Without word he rose and
went with steady step out into the
darkness of the warehouse. Hillyer
heard his crunching tread as he walk
ed back and forth over the grain
strewn floor, and he knelt beside the
bed and tried to pray the prayer that
had rung in his old brain for thirty
years, but somehow the worn words
refused to come. George Buckley's 81
lence was against him. His long de-
layed doom lurked in the dark silence
of the great house, and In a moment
George Buckley would calmly bring 1t
forth and show 1t to him. Suddenly
from the darkness he heard q sttfed
cry as Of pain; then heavy weight
went down-George Buckley had fall
en-. A cold sweat broke out on the
merchants face. He feared he knew
not what, but he feared. Was his
doom about to show itself In a more
tragic shape than he had ever dreamed
Of its taking2 He stood up and slowly
crept rather than walked to the door
of the room. Standing there. he found
his voice and cried out:
George are you hurtr'
His voice rang harshly through the
biz room. There was no answer.
George! George! Are you thar?'
Still no response.
Hillyer leaned against the door fac
ing. His knees were. weak; he was
about to sink to the floor. Then he
heard George Buckley calling to him.
"Mr. Hillyer," came in a faint voice.
"please bring the lamp back here"
The lamp! Great God, what could
that mean? What did Buckley intend
to show him-what7
Taking the lamp In his quivering
hand, the merchant went back In the
rear. At first he could see nothing,
for he was dazed by the light. but he
groped on. Presently he came upon
Buckley lying on his side behind a
great pile or corn IN Dags.
"I'm sorry to bother you," the young
man said humbly, "but I've got my
foot caught in hole In the floor, and I
can't possibly get it out"
"Oh, George" the merchant gasped,
and. placing the lamp on the floor, he
raised the young man in his arms, and
together they managed to release the
imprisoned member.
"Thank you. Mr.. Hillyer." The arm
of the young man still lay on the old
mans shoulder, and instead Of remov-
ing it he pressed it down tenderly.
II want to say something" he said,
"but I'm afraid I can't. Mr.. Hillyer,
you have-s1ade man Of me tonight.
You've t.Xght me great lesson. You
met your trouble as early in life as l
am meeting mine, and yet you have
borne yours like a soldier for thirty
years. I've been coward, weak and
shirking, but from tonight on I'm go
ing to fight as you have done. You rr
saved me, Mr.. Hillyer." Buckley turn
ed the old mans face toward him.
"You know l never had q father l
could love and respect, but love and
venerate you, sir. You can count on
me, Mr.. Hillyer. was drunk when
spoke as I did just now. I'm sober
now. l hope you will pardon me-"
"Oh. George" That was all the old
man could say; he had begun to sob
like q child.
Buckley took up the lamp. "Yes," he
said rs he led the way back to his
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