Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1905-08-06

quickr' almost sobbed Timson, and then
he closed the door and tottered back to
the bed
He thought of that poem of Eugene
Fields. in which IS narrated the incident of
the boy with the longed-for ice water pass
Ing by the door of the man longing for It.
Ifmson had often laughed over that poem
But now it didn't strike him as being hu-
morous a little bit. 1t was more like
I tragedy in blank verse.
After the lapse OF period during which
II seemed to 1fmson that the boy must be
manufacturing the ice, he got the cherished
pitcher, told the boy to walt minute,
drank the pitcherful at gulp and told the
boy to fetch another. The second tempo
rarily allayed his thirst, and he dismissed
the bell boy and was alone with his grief
Ilmson sozzled towel in the wash
pltcher, banded it about his head and lay
down. he wondered what time it was and
then he remembered that he hadn't seen his
watch since waking He got up and search
ed for it, and found 1t underneath the bu-
reau, with the case snapped open, but ticking
away merrily. TImson envied the watch its
normal, cheerful works. His own works he
thought-and then he moaned again and fell
back into bed.
At this hour, quarter past nine he re-
ffected, If he hadn't listened to the persua-
sions of those ruffian friends of his and
embarked upon the Atlantic City trip-at
this hour he'd have been in the dining room
OF ms quiet Washington home. eating iced
cahtaloupe and hot mullins and chops and
his regular omelette, with a couple of cups
of fine coffee to make a foundation for the
enjoyable Sunday after-breakfast cigar.
And here he was with stomach of molten
steel. a top-piece like a captive balloon,
and
BLANK it," groaned Timson turning over
hopelessly, they shanghaied me, that's
what they did-shanghaed me,''
There was knock on the door, and Tim
son, without moving. yelled to the knocker
to enter. 1t was one of the seven. He
wore very sad expression of countenance
as he walked a-tptoe across the room to
Timson's bed. Timson hadn't moved.
We'll. poor old chap was the way Tim
sons crony opened up, in the tone of one
visiting more-sinneda against than SHINING
friend behind the bars, how goes 1t now?''
Go to blazesi' mumbled Timson, whack-
ing his pillow and turning it over to find a
cool spot His friend looked grieved.
Well he said, reproachfully. that's a
nice reply for you to hand out to a man
that's been trying nearly all night to SQUARE
you, ! must say"
Tfmson sat I'D,
"Hey?" said he.
oh. we'll guess It's all right-hope so"
said Timson's pal. We've kind o. got him
softened up. and we Clipped In to paw the
damage. and l guess he's good fellow
enough not to prosecute
Ilmson stared at his friend hard and long
Say. look a-here." he broke out, weakly
after the long pause. whats all this, any
how? Damage what? Prosecute whop
What's the mat"
Poor old Tim" said his friend, sympa
thetfcally. II told the fellow you wouldn't
remember n thing about 1t when you came
to-"
BY this time Timson WIS almost delirious
with anxiety.
rs the internal limb acile," he groaned.
addressing the wall, lever going TO toll mn.
what the devil he's talking about, or shall
l.
WELL cut in his friend, -'you know a
FELLOW kind O. hates to rub 1t In on q chum,