Wausau pilot. [volume] (Wausau, Wis.) 1896-1940, 1905-10-17
CHAPTER I.

C1APIER i.
If John Gilbert's only child has pos
sessed the capacity eff a Newton or the
aspirations of a Napoleon, the surgeon
would nevertheless have shut him up
TO compound tincture of rhubarb and
essence of peppermint Luckily for the
boy, he was only a commonplace lad,
with a good-looking, rosy face. clear
gray eyes, which stared at you frankly;
and thick stubble of brown hair, part
ed in the middle and waving from the
roots. He was tall and muscular,
good runner, tolerably skilIful with
pair of boxing gloves, and a decent shot.
be was very good; and, above ALL he
was very good looking. No one had ever
disputed this fact; George Gilbert was
eminently good looking. No one had
ever gone SO far as to call him hand
some; no one had ever presumed to des-
ignate him plain" He had those home
ly healthy good looks which the prac-
teal mind involuntarily associates with
tenant farming in small way.
George Gilbert took his life as he
found it, and had no wish to make it
better. TO him Graybridge was all the
world. He had been in the city, and
had felt a provincial's sense of surprised
delight in the thronged streets, the
clamor and the hustle; but he had very
soon discovered that the great metropolis
was dirty and disreputable place as
compared with Graybridge, where you
might have taken your dinner comfort
ably Off any door step, so far as the
matter of cleanliness is concerned. The
young man was more than satisfied with
his life; he was pleased with it. lie
was pleased to think that he was to be
his fathers partner, and was to live and
marry, and have children, and die at
last in the familiar rooms in which he
had been born. His nature was very
adhesive, and he loved the things that
he had long known, because they were
old and familiar to him. rather than
for any merit or beauty in the things
themselves.
The Goth of July was a very great day
for George Gilbert, and indeed for the
town of Graybridge generally; for on
that day an excursion train left Ware
ham for the city, conveying such rowing
spirits as cared to pay a weeks visit
to the great metropolis upon very mod
crate terms. George had weeks holt
day, which he was to spend with an old
The surgeon left Graybridge at 8 o'clock
upon that bright summer morning. in /
company with Miss Burdock and her sis
ter Sophronia, who were going on a
visit to an aristocratic aunt, and who
had been confided to Georges care dur
ing the journey.
Wareham is only hundred and TWEEN
ty miles from the city, and the excursion
ctn a nIvnV cto ION
on the line, had arrived at the ter
minus at half past o'clock. 1t was
between 3 and now, and the sun was
shining upon the river, and the flags
were hot under Mr.. Gilbert's feet He
was very warm himself, and almost worn
out, when he found at last the name he
was looking for, painted very high up.
In white letters, upon a black door post
Fourth Floor: Mr. Andrew Morgan
and Mr.. Sigismund Smith"
1t was in the most obscure corner of
the dingiest court that George Gilbert
found this name. He climbed a very
dirty staircase, humping the end of his
portmanteau upon every stair as he
went up, until he came TO a landing, |
midway between the third and fourth |
stories; here he was obliged to stop for |
sheer want of breath, for he had been
Juggling the portmanteau about with him |
throughout his wanderings, and a good
many people had been startled by the as
pect of well dressed young man carry
ing his own luggage, and staring at the
names of the different rows of houses.
A pale-faced young man, with
smudge of ink upon the end of his nose.
and very dirty wristbands, opened the
door.
SAM
George cried the two young men.
simultaneously, and then began to shake
hands with effusion.
'My dear old George"
'Gy dear old Sam. But you call
yourself Sigismund now?'
Yes; Sigismund Smith. 1t sounds
well, doesn't it? If a mans evil destiny
makes him a Smith, the least he can do
is to take it out in his Christian name.
No Smith with a grain of spirit would
ever consent to be Samuel. But come
dear old boy, and put your portmanteau
down; knock those papers off that chair
there by the window. Don't be fright
ened of making em in a muddle; thew
can't be in a worse muddle than thew
are now. If you don't mind Just amus-
ing yourself for half an hour or 50
while l finish this chapter of the Snug
gler's Bride l shall be able to strike
work, and do whatever you like; but the
printers boy is coming back in half an
hour for the end of the chapter"
Il won't speak word" George said
respectfully. The young man with tbe |
smudgy nose was an author, and George |
Gilbert had an awful sense of the sol |
emnity of his friends vocation. Write |
away, my dear Sam; l won't interrunt |
you"
He drew his chair close to the opar
window and looked down into the cont |
below, where the paint was slowly bIis'
tering in the July sun.