The Princeton union. [volume] (Princeton, Minn.) 1876-1976, 1906-03-08
Il think not Tom answered, hating.
ssW'hat does If mo flor. -,

/ w AdI 4uOCo IL udLlSI z.es
Crailey drew a deep breath.
1T doesn't" he returned.
"She knew me we'll enough said
Tom sadly as he resumed his sentry
60.
yes repeated Crailey deliberately.
$50 it seems! So it seemsw He blew
long stream Of smoke out into the
air before him and softly murmured
again: $50 it seems! So it seemsv'
Silence fell, broken only by the sound
of Toms footsteps, until, presently,
some one informally shouted his name
from the street below. 1t was only Will
Cummings passing the time Of day, but
when Tom turned from the window
after answering him Crailey and his
poem were gone.
That evening Vanrevel sat in the
| dusty Office, driving himself to his
work with sharp goad, for there was
face that came between him and all
else in the world and a voice that
sounded always in his ears, but the
! work was done before he rose from
his chair, though he showed haggard
| visage as he bent above his candles to
blow them out
1t was II o'clock. Crailey had not
| come back, and Tom knew that his
light hearted friend would not return
for many hours, and so, having no
| mind to read and no belief that he
could if he tried, he went out to walk
| the streets. He went down to the river
first, and stood for a little while gaz-
ing at the ruins of the two warehouses,
| and that was like a man with head
ache beating his skull against a wall.
| AS he stood on the blackened wharf
he saw how the charred beams rose
| above him against the sky like a gal
lows, and it seemed to him that moth
| Ing could have been better symbol,
| for here he had hanged his self respect.
| ''Reproach her" He who had so dis
played his imbecility before her! Had
| he been her fathers best friend he
should have had too great a sense of
shame to dare to speak to her after
that night, when her quiet intelligence
had exhibited him to himself and to all
the world as naught else than fool
and a noisy one at that!
Suddenly a shudder convulsed him.
He struck his open palm across his
forehead and spoke aloud, while, from
horizon to horizon, the night air grew
thick with the whispered laughter of
observing hobgoblins:
! "And even if there had been no STAIR
way, we could have slid down the
| hose liner
He retraced his steps, tall, gray fig
ure moving slowly through the blue
darkness, and his lips formed the heart
| sick shadow of a smile when he found
that he had unconsciously turned into
Carewe street. Presently he came to
| gap in hedge, through which he
had sometimes stolen to hear the sound
| of a harp and girls voice singing,
but he did not enter there tonight,
though ne paused a moment, his head
bowed on his breast
There came sound of voices. They
seemed to be moving toward the hedge,
toward the gap where he stood, one
mans, eager, quick, but very musical;
the other girls, rich and clear con-
tralto that passed into Toms soul like
psalm of rejoicing and like a scim-
tier of fame. He shivered and moved
away quickly, but not before the mans
voice, somewhat louder for the mo-
ment, came distinctly from the other
side of the hedge.
"After ALL" said the voice, with
ripple of laughter-"after all, weren't
you little hard on that poor Mr..
Gray?"
Tom did not understand, but he knew
the voice. 1t was that of Crailey Gray.
He heard the same voice again that
night and again stood unseen. Long
after midnight he was still tramping
the streets on his lonely rounds when
he CHANGED to pass the Rouen House.
| which hostelry bore to the uninitiated
eye the appearance Of having closed
its doors upon all Inequalities for the
night in strict compliance with the law
of the city fathers, yet slender wand
of bright light might be discovered I'M
dHneath< the street door of the bar
room.
From within the merry retreat issued
! an uproar Of shouting, raucous laugh
ter and the pounding of glasses on ia
bles, heralding all too plainly the by
pocrisy of the landlord and possibly
that of the city fathers also. Tom
knew what company was gathered
there gamblers, truckmen, drunken
| farmers, men from the river steamers
making riot while their boats lay at
the wharf, with a motley gathering Of
| good-for- nothings Of the back alleys
and tipping clerks from the Main
for song, and in answer the voice of
Crailey rose over the general din, some
what hoarse and never so musical when
he sang as when he spoke. yet so touch
ing in it's dramatic tenderness that soon
the noise fell away, and the rOisterers